


Permafrost

by StardustCoeur (SolivagantSleepyhead)



Series: Permafrost [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, and everyone feels guilty for not noticing sooner, emetophobia tw, vomiting in chapter 8, yurio is not as tough as he wants everyone to believe, yuuri and victor being concerned dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolivagantSleepyhead/pseuds/StardustCoeur
Summary: Impact.Points of pain, easily discernible.Left knee, left elbow, hands.Roll to your back.Wait for your vision to stop swimming.Breathe in. Out.Get to your knees.Collapse.Iron on your tongue.Blood on your palms.Don’t think about it.Get to your knees.Fumble. Stand.Don’t cry out. Don’t cry out. Don’t cry out.Don’t stop, even if it kills you.---Aka: Yurio isn't able to use his spite as a motivator, and falls victim to his internalized self-loathing.





	1. Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> its finals week and ive got,,,a lot of fuckign feelings ok.

_Impact._

_Points of pain, easily discernible._

_Left knee, left elbow, hands._

_Roll to your back._

_Wait for your vision to stop swimming._

_Breathe in. Out._

_Get to your knees._

_Collapse._

_Iron on your tongue._

_Blood on your palms._

_Don’t think about it._

_Get to your knees._

_Fumble. Stand._  

_Don’t cry out. Don’t cry out. Don’t cry out._

_Don’t stop, even if it kills you._

Yuri’s gasping for air, a ragged, rusty sound tearing from his lungs. The exhaustion creeping through his nerves is so excruciating that he feels like he’s breathing in smoke, and it burns with every infuriatingly involuntary rasp. There’s blood on his palms, lips, hair, the ice. He wipes what he can off on his dark pants and presses forward. Any second now, he knows his knees will buckle again and send him sprawling across the frozen surface, but he can’t _stop_ . It had been building for weeks⏤ _months_ , even. Ever since he tailed Victor to Hasetsu.

Ever since he was forced to come to terms with Victor’s feelings.

(Or, lack thereof, his brain supplies sadistically, the realization having embedded itself deep in the forefront of his mind when this whole shitshow began.)

But he can’t⏤he _won’t_ ⏤think about that, now.

Now, he needs to skate.

He risks a double toe-loop, the kind of thing he’d been doing since he was still in primary school, and falls flat on his ass, vision blacking out for a few seconds. The pain has become indistinguishable. Torn lip, scraped palm, twisted ankle, hunger pangs. All of it, just one ache too vast to pin down, radiating through every cell in his body as if his blood was alight.

He falls to his back, watches the arched grey ceiling warp and fade into darkness, he wonders how long it would take to freeze to death in an ice rink. Maybe he’d be the first to do so.

Hey, at least _that_ might get Victor’s attention, he thinks, letting himself fall into the sweet embrace of self-inflicted oblivion.

 

...

 

The light is blinding. It surrounds him from all sides, so there is no safe direction to turn that will shield his eyes from the burning pain. When he goes to rub the blurriness from his vision, he finds that his right arm refuses to move, and each attempt brings a stomach-turning tugging sensation to his forearm. All his senses are coming back at once, but they’re unusually fuzzy and diluted, like he’s been drugged. First, he’s hit by a strong whiff of piss and antiseptic, and he chokes, ineffectively throwing his one functioning hand up to shield his nose and mouth from the overwhelming effluvia. His ears are ringing, too, but not from tinnitus, they’re ringing because he’s _hooked up to something_ , and it’s releasing a steady beat of sound every second and a half.

It takes longer than is strictly necessary for him to put it all together.

Yuri groans, trying and failing to prop himself up from under the scratchy, unpleasant hospital linens. His head is swimming, like he’s been oxygen-deprived for far too long. He tries to think back to what landed him in this fantastic kick-to-the-crotch of a situation, but he’s mostly at a loss, only able to draw back a few hazy memories of being at the ice rink. All he knows for sure is that his body is absolutely _killing him_.

There’s a gasp from the general area to the left of his bed before he suddenly finds himself wrapped up in a tight embrace. “Yuri, you’re awake!”

He scoffs⏤or, at least, tries to, his voice coming out thin and shaky as he pushes in vain at the arms caging him in. “Damn, what gave me away?”

The person, Mila, he remembers, pouts at him, settling down in one of the plastic chairs beside the bed. “Don’t be like that. We were worried about you...” She chides, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah, right.” Yuri mumbles critically under his breath, fidgeting with the bandages covering his hands. “How long was I out, anyway?”

Mila hums. “A couple of days, Yurotchka. You really gave Yakov a heart attack, passing out on the ice like that. What were you even _doing_ out there so late?”

“Practicing.” He scowls, mind running a million miles a minute as the memories from the other night come flooding back to him, leaving him with one, shocking realization. “ _Oh, god_ .” He chokes, suddenly coming to terms with his situation. “You guys didn’t tell my grandpa, did you?!” _Anyone_ but _him_ . Victor, Katsudon, _fuck_ , they could have reported it to the international news, for all he cared! Just leave. His grandpa. _Out of it_.

“We had to, Yuri; he’s your _family_.” Mila frowns, running her fingers through his messy blond hair comfortingly. “He cares about you. Wouldn’t you rather he knew now than find out from someone else later?”  

“ _You don’t understand_.” He growls, but anyone could hear how devoid of anger it really was. How hollow and broken and _disgustingly_ vulnerable it sounded out in the air⏤the building pressure of tears behind his eyes adding insult to injury. Mila gives him a sympathetic look, and Yuri wishes that he still wasn’t conscious. That his grandfather, the one person who could actually put up with his bullshit, could remain blissfully unaware of his most recent, most humiliating fuckup.

But, most of all, he wishes that he’d had the proper foresight to realize that chasing Victor to Hasetsu had been a horrible idea from the beginning. If he hadn’t been so stupid, so selfish, then, maybe...

“Yuri.” Mila calls, voice uncharacteristically serious. “I need you to tell me the truth about something.”

Yuri swallows around the obstruction lodged in his throat. At this point, he’s not confident that he even has the voice to answer her if he tried. She has a million questions, he can see that much in her eyes. But this one, he knows this one before she even has to ask. It’s the one question he wants to think about the least⏤after all, he’s spent every waking moment since coming back to Russia pointedly _not_ thinking about it.

He nods, nonetheless.

Mila falters for a moment, her own eyes growing glassy under the harsh fluorescents, and Yuri desperately tries to convince himself it’s just from the brightness of the room.

She leans forward in her seat, her voice low, scared. “Yuri, what happened to your thighs?”

Yuri can think of a few excuses; he’s been saving them for months in preparation for this. Cat scratches, a fall, his own nails, bug bites. He goes to offer one up, opens his mouth, but the words catch in his throat. It’s obvious from her tense expression that she doesn’t expect to hear anything but _I was cutting myself, I’m sorry_. And, for once, he wishes he could offer up a lie.

So, instead, he just settles on “ _Fuck off_." It’s bitter⏤neither confirming nor denying the implication hanging so precariously between them. It’s so very _him_ , and she seems to get her confirmation either way, if the sharp intake of breath that follows is any indication. Mila stands, then, the metal legs of the chair scraping against the floor as she walks briskly from the room, the door slamming shut behind her, sealing his fate.

Yuri lets his mind go pleasantly blank. He counts floor and ceiling tiles, measures the steady _beep, beep, beep-_ ing of the monitor next to his bed. Someone in the next room is watching a daytime soap opera, and he can make out the cadence of the voices but not the words. He’s disconnected, like he’s floating, and it feels better than he’d like to admit.

The door creaks open an indeterminate amount of time later. Yuri doesn’t look up. Whoever it is hesitates for a few moments, before they approach his bedside, taking the seat Mila abandoned.

“Yuri.” The person, male, clears his throat. “Yuri, look at me.”

Yuri turns, making eye-contact with his coach, but says nothing. By this point, the older man will already have heard everything from Mila, so he can’t see a reason to entertain any false pleasantries, especially when he’s as bone-tired as he feels.

Yakov looks...for lack of a better word, lost. This surprises Yuri a bit. Over the decade-plus that they’ve known one another, he’d seen the man look angry, bitter, annoyed, frustrated...anything but so defeated and uncertain as he did now. It seems unreal. Fake. But he can’t think of a good enough reason for any of them to out on a show for his sake, either.

“What were you trying to do?” Yakov blurts out, and, for what it’s worth, has the decency to look ashamed for being so forward, so brazen.

“Skate.” Yuri replies, hoping that if he’s dismissive enough, they’ll all just give up on him, leave him here to rot, like he deserves.

Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

The closed fist that comes down on the nightstand is enough to slosh some water out of the powder-pink pitcher there, and the sound of the impact is loud enough to eclipse the murmuring from the next room. “ _Damnit_ , Yuri!!” He shouts, and Yuri muses that _ah, now that’s more like Yakov_ . “Why are you always so stubborn?! Why can’t you just grow up for _once_ and act like you care?! We’ve been waiting for _days_ on pins and needles since the doctors told us about the fatigue, the malnutrition, the goddamn _self-harm_ ! Wondering if maybe we could have seen the signs, if it was _our_ faults for not watching out for you, and _all you can give us is lip_?!?”

In the back of his mind, Yuri is horrified, seeing his stone-faced coach fall apart like this, but the feeling couldn’t seem to reach his face, or his voice. The silence stretched on between them as Yakov awaited something⏤an apology, probably, maybe even a proper fight⏤but all Yuri could manage was an empty stare, a pitiful shrug of his shoulders before he averts his gaze.

His lackluster response seems to take all of the wind out of Yakov’s sails, and the man visibly deflates. Yuri watches his coach’s eyes as they search his expression for _anything_ of his usual piss-and-vinegar attitude, but come up short, save for the dead look he can feel plastered on his face.

“Yuri…” He breathes, imploringly, pityingly. For a moment, he reaches his hand out, but quickly withdraws, stuck somewhere between the clashing urges to either console the teen or slap that impassive look off his face once and for all. Instead, he settles on pushing himself back to his feet, moving towards the door. He hesitates in the frame for only a second, casting a final glance over his shoulder at the boy on the bed, in case he decides to call out. It’s wishful thinking. Nothing’s going to change, and he knows it. “Your grandfather should be here by tomorrow. For his sake, try to straighten out your story before then.” He instructs before turning heel and leaving the hospital room, unable to withstand another second of that glassy, doll-like stare.

  
In all his 40 years of coaching, Yakov had never been at such a loss for how to help one of his students. He leaves the room with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is from victor and yuuri's POV and will probably be up tomorrow!!


	2. the weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my final starts at 7 tomorrow morning but success is for ppl with dreams so here's some more YOI angst :^)

It’s mid-afternoon in Hasetsu when the phone call comes. Of course, Yuuri is hard at work on perfecting his program, and Victor is too preoccupied to notice the voicemail until that evening, when they’re preparing to leave.

It all comes at once. One minute, everything is fine, and he’s laughing and flirting with Yuuri as usual as he idly checks his phone. Amongst the usual notifications, he finds a voicemail from Mila, which catches him by surprise. It was rare for  _ anyone  _ to call him out of the blue, let alone a practice mate he hadn’t seen in months. He excuses himself while Yuuri changes back into his street clothes, pressing the phone to his ear curiously. 

The instant the recorded words reach him, his stomach bottoms out, and Victor has to lean heavily against the locker room wall as the world tilts on its axis. With shaking hands, he checks the call log once, twice. Listens to the message over and over and  _ over _ again, waiting for the punchline. Praying for her to laugh and admit that it wasn’t true, as if wishing hard enough could make the cold onset of reality any less final. 

“Victor? Are you okay?” Yuuri prods, dropping his skates and hurrying over the moment he takes in Victor’s expression. His hands hover uncertainly over the other’s trembling shoulders, anxious to comfort. With brown eyes blown wide behind thick-rimmed glasses, his pupils dart across Victor’s body, searching for the source of his distress. 

“It’s Yurio.” Victor manages to force out, his voice wavering with every syllable. “He...He’s…” He fumbles, shoving the phone into the other’s hands as he finds himself unable to repeat what he’d just heard.  _ It can’t be true _ , he thinks, legs going boneless under his weight, leaving him to slide to the floor at Yuuri’s feet like a broken toy. 

_ Yurio _ ? The brunette swallows thickly, crossing his fingers in silent prayer for the teen’s safety as he presses the playback button.

[ _ Victor? It⏤it’s Mila. But you, you probably knew that already...It’s...Yuri is in the hospital. He passed out in the ice rink during the night. He was bleeding and practically hypothermic; we don’t even know how long he was there...We assumed he was overworking himself like he always does, but we were wrong, Victor. Yuri is...he’s not well. He hasn’t even woken up. On top of the fatigue, he’s anemic, malnourished, and, and they found a lot of...s-self-inflicted wounds on his thighs. They think he’s been doing it for a few months at least, so I thought maybe...maybe he would have told you something when he was in Japan? It’s obvious that he really admires you, so I thought that if anyone had ideas, you might. And...yeah. Just. Just call me back. _ ] 

Yuuri is frozen, staring at nothing as the message cuts off, the dissonant end tone ringing hollowly in his ears. There isn’t a word in his vocabulary to describe the acute sense of horror, fear, and worry roiling in his stomach, as the implication hits him full force. Every thought he can muster up echoes back with the unavoidable,  _ horrible _ knowledge that, considering the timeframe, Yurio would have been self-harming while he was staying in Hasetsu. 

At that time, the teen had been a minor under  _ his  _ supervision, in  _ his  _ home. He didn’t want to believe it, but could he have honestly been so ignorant to the other’s suffering? Were he and Victor really so clueless as to not see what was happening, right in front of their eyes? They were responsible for watching over Yurio, and they  _ failed _ him. Point-blank. All those little gaps of time when the teenager would sneak off to be by himself...they’d never questioned it, too caught up in each other to even  _ ask _ after him.

He wishes now, more than anything, that they had.

Yurio always seemed so fierce, so unstoppable, to the point where he often found himself forgetting that the blond was actually just fifteen. Since he’d left, neither he nor Victor had even properly followed up with him. They’d just assumed that he was livid when he left Ice Castle after the competition, but what if there was more to it? What if he were actually, seriously  _ hurt _ and they’d just abandoned him to his own devices?

_ God, there were too many red-flags to count _ …

He glances down at Victor’s collapsed form, opening his mouth to say  _ something, anything _ , but is ultimately beaten to the punch.

“It’s my fault...isn’t it?” 

Yuuri’s jaw clicks shut. He wants to say  _ of course not _ , and reassure the other that there was nothing that they could have done to change the course of events, but…

But he can’t. It’s  _ both  _ of their faults that it got this bad. 

He drops to his knees beside Victor, pulling him into an embrace. “The only thing we can do now is try and make up for lost time.” He mumbles against his partner’s hair, feeling like any second the pit of guilt opening up inside of his stomach might swallow the both of them whole. 

…

They’re in Russia as soon as they can manage to book a flight. Mila had been supplying them with regular updates, but there wasn’t much to report save for the harrowing fact that Yurio still,  _ still _ hasn’t woken up. It’s been just under 36 hours since he’d been admitted, but he’d been unconscious for even longer before they’d found him, so the doctors place it more towards 42 hours.  _ Almost two days _ , Victor realizes, a chill running down his spine at the thought. 

When they arrive at the hospital that night, Mila is already there, her bright eyes lacking their usual lustre. She looks exactly as they feel: tired, worried,  _ guilty _ . 

From the time of his admission, Mila had voluntarily taken on the role of Yuri’s stand-in caretaker as they anxiously awaited Yuri’s grandfather. Yakov had tried his damnedest to stay as well, but, unfortunately, news of what had happened at the ice rink had spread like wildfire, and fending off the press took up what little remaining free time he had after coaching. The few who knew the teen well were adamant about staying. Whether it was Mila, Yakov (or even Lilia, for a very brief period of time) there was always someone close by to keep an eye on the boy and report any changes to his condition. 

It should have been sweet, but the concern was tainted by the unspoken knowledge that, had they not been so short-sighted before, maybe they would have been able to prevent this. 

“Hi, Victor, Yuuri.” Mila smiles, but the expression is obviously forced, and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The two men return it, nonetheless. There are no words exchanged as they make their way down the hall, but Yuuri tentatively reaches for Victor’s hand after a minute, and it serves to ground them well enough to press on. 

When Mila leads them into the room, Victor doesn’t exactly know  _ what _ to feel. He’d been expecting blood, bandages⏤maybe some cliche and dramatic hospital scene with clutching hands and whispered, teary reassurances. 

He expects to see Yuri. Hurt and asleep, but still  _ Yuri _ .

Instead, he sees a child. Pale, skinnier than he remembers, with golden hair fanning out like a halo against the stark-white pillow he’s resting on. His right arm is laid out beside him, a butterfly needle connecting him to a saline drip over his head. The area around the injection site is bruised and purple, heavily contrasting with the ash grey of the boy’s skin. There are deep-set, red bags under thick lashes and scarred pink lips bitten bloody. He looks like a corpse, and for a horrifying moment, Victor doesn’t even _recognize_ him. It’s a slap to the face. _What else have I been too self-involved to see, all this time_? He wonders, fearfully. Out of everyone, he thought Yuri Plisetsky, the loud, arrogant, rough little tiger he’d known since he himself was still a teenager would be someone he knew better than anyone. 

But he doesn’t recognize this boy, with the same name and face as  _ his _ Yuri Plisetsky, and he’s suddenly faced with the fact that  _ maybe he didn’t know him so well, after all. _

Drawing back from his thoughts, Victor realizes that Yuuri has gone still beside him, his clammy hand shaking in Victor’s own. He chances a glance at the other, and is vaguely shocked to see tears running down his face. 

“Yuuri…?” He asks, tentatively, reaching a hand towards the other. Mila coughs and excuses herself from the room, leaving the two alone in the tense pseudo-silence of the hospital. 

“Sorry...” Yuuri chokes, brushing at the rapidly-falling tears to no avail. “I-I just...seeing him like this is…” He trails off, and Victor almost wishes he didn’t completely understand. _ It’s too much _ . 

Victor falls silent, too afraid to speak because he knows that when he does, it’s going to be something so fucking  _ selfish _ . Instead, he hugs Yuuri close and closes his eyes, tries to drown out the sound of the heart-rate monitor and the suffocating odor of death that clings to their surroundings. 

He especially tries not to think of Yurio, pale and asleep and  _ suffering _ because of him.

It’s a while before Mila returns, but despite the privacy, they couldn’t bring themselves to venture to Yurio’s unconscious form. She pours them each a plastic cup of water from the pitcher next to the bed before all but kicking them out of the hospital, promising to keep them updated on Yurio’s condition while they slept off the jetlag. Yuuri wants to thank her, for everything, but the words stick in his throat. He drains the cup and crushes it, just for that fleeting second of feeling in control.

They return to the hotel feeling useless, too emotionally exhausted to do anything but try and sleep, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Even with the stress weighing them down, there is no path to solace⏤even temporarily. As they lie side by side in bed, both men are haunted by the after-image of Yurio whenever they close their eyes. It’s a washed-in stain⏤a constant reminder of  _ you caused this _ . They’re both awake, both aware, but even with their hands entwined and their minds trapped in the same point in time, the distance feels almost too big to bridge.


	3. hull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm this is a mess lol my gf dumped me last night so heres abt 2,000 words of me projecting my self-loathing onto yurio :^) i love coping(™)

Between the two of them, Victor and Yuuri only manage a combined 45 minutes of sleep before the harsh light of morning comes streaming in, putting an end to a seemingly interminable night. Victor had kept his phone face-up beside his head for the duration of the night, volume and vibrate on the highest settings out of sheer paranoia that he’d somehow miss Mila’s message.

It’s well into the morning when Mila does contact him. The message is short, concise⏤only three words⏤but the weight of it is enough to have he and Yuuri dressed and in a cab in what must be record-setting time. Yuuri tries his best to keep up the light conversation, pointing out things he hadn’t noticed on the ride the night before and so on. But from the unbuttoned portion of his coat, Victor can see that the shirt he’d hastily thrown on is inside-out, betraying the anxiety he must be feeling, despite his best efforts to act unaffected. Victor doesn’t comment on it, he just takes the other’s hand and watches the snow-covered streets blur past the dirty cab window.

The first person they see after arriving in the waiting room is Yakov which, honestly, does not surprise Victor in the least. Despite the frequent quarrels between the 15-year-old and his coach, anyone could see that Yakov considered himself to be the teen’s primary parental figure. What _does_ surprise Victor is just how obviously this seems to be affecting the older man.

Yakov Feltsman was the type of person who naturally had a big presence. He was authoritative and intimidating, even in his old age. Nothing like the man who was sitting before them now, hunched and forlorn on the uncomfortable vinyl bench. He doesn’t look up at them as they approach, his gaze locked decisively on the dingy white wall across from him.

Victor calls out to him a few times before Yakov takes note of their arrival. The older man’s expression is as hard-set and impassive as ever, but his eyes are soft with worry, the creases on his face seeming deeper than before. He looks... _old_ . For a man of 70 years, Yakov had always had a way of making you forget about his age. He didn’t show any hint of weakness or even _mention_ it⏤it just wasn’t relevant.

But right now, Yakov looks his age in the worst of ways.

Victor averts his eyes, feeling like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have.

“You’re here.” The older man grumbles, more to himself than anyone else as he rises to greet the two. “Mila called you?”

Victor nods, swallowing back the discomfort he felt. “She messaged us a little while ago. Is it true? Yuri’s awake?”

“He is,” Yakov sighs, the exhausted sound rattling in his lungs like rusty metal. “But brace yourselves before going in there. If that kid was a closed book before all this, then he’s twice as serious about keeping us out of what’s going on now that he’s cornered.”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks nervously, grip on Victor’s hand tightening. “He hasn’t said anything about what happened?”

“Frustratingly little.” The older man scoffs, more hurt than angry. “He didn’t deny the self-harm when Mila asked, but the rest of it is a mystery. Why he’s so unhealthy, what he was doing at the ice rink that night, what’s causing him to push it so far. Nothing.”

“It’s really that bad?” Victor breathes. He knew not to expect much of an emotional break from the young skater, but to completely shut himself away like that…

Checking his watch, Yakov curses under his breath, collecting his things from the bench. “I’m leaving, I’ve wasted enough time here as is.” He growls, shrugging his overcoat back on. “Keep an eye on him for me. I sent Mila home to get some rest and his grandfather won’t be here until tomorrow. Try to get something out of him, if you can manage.”

“Of course.” Victor replies, barely managing to keep his voice steady. “We’ll call you if anything happens.”

Yakov grunts, brushing past the two towards the door. He stops short, hand on the crash bar. When he speaks again, there’s an indescribable tone in his voice. Victor hesitates to call it ‘vulnerability’. “Just...tell him that he isn’t in trouble for me, will you? He’s not alone, even if he can’t see it now.” He coughs, glaring back over his shoulder. “Maybe he’ll get it through his thick skull if you tell him. That’s all.”

The two younger men trace Yakov’s retreating back until he’s completely out of sight. They share a brief look, hands still entwined, and head in the direction of Yuri’s room.

The teenager didn’t seem to have moved an inch from where he’d been the last time they’d seen him, save for his open eyes, which were staring emotionlessly upwards at the neat rows of water-stained ceiling tiles above him. He turns his head slightly at the sound of the door opening, and Victor smiles at him reflexively, plopping himself down in one of the bedside chairs with Yuuri hovering anxiously at his side.

“Hi, Yura. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He asks, putting all his energy into making it sound as normal as he possibly can. “How are you feeling?”

Yuri blinks slowly, expression unnervingly blank, as if he hadn’t heard. Victor opens his mouth to repeat the question, but is silenced by a soft rasp from the blond.

“What are you doing here?”

There isn’t any of the playful animosity behind the words as there usually was, but it isn’t exactly a question, either. Victor feels blind-sighted, somehow.

“P-pardon?” He falters, smiling wider. His cheeks hurt with how forced the expression feels, and he can feel Yuuri fidgeting beside him.

Yuri’s jaw visibly tightens, and it’s the most expressive thing they’ve seen of him so far. “Why are you here?” He repeats, louder.

“We...wanted to see you?” Yuuri replies tentatively, leaning closer to the bed.

There’s a beat of silence, and Yuri’s eyes harden. “Someone put you up to this, didn’t they?”

Victor sputters, glancing at Yuuri to make sure he’d heard correctly. The brunette looks like he’s been slapped, confusion and worry painting his features as they lock eyes.

“Why would you think that?” Victor asks gently, trying to ignore the hurt settling in his chest at the accusation. “You’re in the _hospital_ , why wouldn’t we come to see you?”

The blond scoffs. “Because you’ve _obviously_ got better things to do.” Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, he turns away. “Whatever. I’m fine. You and Katsudon have fulfilled your pity quota for the time being by dealing with me, so why don’t you just cut the act and go back to Japan already.”

“Yuri, please,” Yuuri murmurs, running a hand through his unusually messy hair. “We’re not... _Nobody_ is mad at you, Yuri. We just want to know what’s happening. Can’t you talk to us?” He implores, reaching out to grasp the blond’s hand only to be roughly slapped away.

“Yuri!!” Victor gasps, offended on the brunette’s behalf. “That was completely uncalled for; apologize right now!”

“It’s fine, Victor!” Yuuri interjects, waving his hands frantically. “He’s already overwhelmed and I shouldn’t have tried to touch him without his permission!”

The older man furrows his brow. “It’s _not_ fine, Yuuri! Overwhelmed or not, he has no right to treat you like that when all you want to do is help⏤”

“I don’t _need_ your help!!” Yuri shouts, pushing himself up on his shaking elbows to scowl at the two. “There’s nothing wrong with me in the first place, so why don’t you both just fuck off and leave me alone?!”

Victor sighs incredulously. “You _know_ that isn’t true. You wouldn’t be in the hospital if there wasn’t something wrong, Yurio, so why can’t you just⏤”

“ _DON’T_ CALL ME THAT!” Yuri snaps, baring his teeth. “STOP ACTING LIKE YOU CARE! I’M FINE, I’M FUCKING _FINE_!” He yells, dragging his nails down his forearms and nearly dislodging the I.V. from the crook in his elbow.

Yuuri gasps, quickly pinning the blond’s wrists down to keep him from causing himself further harm. “Yuri, I’m sorry that we upset you, but you need to calm down!”

Yuri lashes out, his breath picking up as he struggles futilely under the brunette's tight hold. “Don’t t-t-ouch me, get o-OFF!!” He chokes, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he neared the point of hyperventilation.

“Call the nurse, I think he’s having a panic attack!!” Yuuri shouts, trying his best not to hurt the squirming teen beneath him.

Victor was frozen with shock as he watched the progression of events, only processing Yuuri’s instructions when his partner prompts him again. Foregoing the call button completely, Victor dashes into the hall himself and approaches the first person in scrubs he sees, his panic-addled brain running too quickly to be ashamed of his desperation.

“Please, help! I think my friend is having a panic attack!” He cries, practically dragging the other man by the arm in the direction of Yuri’s room.

When Victor returns, Yuuri still has the teen pinned in bed, preventing him from lashing out and causing more harm to himself. Despite the situation, he focuses on whispering calming words to the blond, encouraging him to breathe and try to calm back down. The nurse rushes in, immediately pressing the call button before hurrying to secure Yurio’s feet as well. Within moments, a handful of other nurses arrive, some having been alerted by the heart-rate monitor, the jagged, erratic peaks a perfect indicator of the panic the boy was experiencing. Yuuri is pushed back, immediately replaced by another two nurses while another escorts him and Victor out into the corridor.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re probably worried and want to stay with your friend, but this is for the best, really.” She smiles sympathetically, looking thoroughly exhausted already. “This could take a while. Try back in 20 minutes, okay?” She instructs, clicking the door shut after her.

From the hall, the two men can still hear the muffled chaos of the room: the nurses collaborating, the heart rate monitor beeping erratically, Yuri hyperventilating. The gravity of the situation was rapidly setting in, and the two felt crushed by the weight of what had just happened.

They choose not to talk about it, sitting silently in the scarcely-populated cafeteria down the hall and sipping lukewarm cups of what had to have been the _worst_ coffee ever made. Even that isn’t enough to distract them though, not from what they’d just seen.

Victor picks at the flimsy styrofoam with his nails, anxious to return to Yurio’s side yet _terrified_ of what would happen when they did. He’d never seen anything like that before, and the fact that he was at least partly responsible for it was just...it overwhelmed him with guilt.

He finds himself speaking without even realizing it.

“So how did you...how did you know what to do, back there? I was so shocked, I couldn’t even move, let alone help.” Victor mumbled, staring fixedly down at the table.

Yuuri shrugged, taking another sip of his burnt coffee. “I had a few panic attacks when I was younger. Holding him down was mostly instinct, though.” He admits a bit sheepishly, running a hand across the back of his neck. “You did help, though. Don’t be too down on yourself about not doing more.”

Victor hums uncertainly, not feeling reassured. “He’ll...he’ll be okay though, right?”

Yuuri doesn’t respond immediately, biting the side of his cheek. “God, I hope so…” He whispers, letting his eyes fall shut.

After 30 minutes, they head back, relieved to see that the nurses had already gone. Victor knocks twice on the door before pushing it open slowly, overly-concerned about scaring the boy again.

Yurio was lying down, his back towards the door as he feigns sleep. Had it not been for the heart rate monitor speeding up slightly as they stepped in, he probably would have gotten away with his act.

Steeling his resolve, Victor closes the door quietly and approaches the bed, kneeling beside it. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Yuri. Maybe you don’t believe us, but we _do_ care about you. We want to help you however we can. Don’t...don’t shut us out, like this.” He murmurs, only barely quelling the urge to run his hand reassuringly through the teen’s hair. “If we’ve hurt you, let us make it up to you. You don’t have to suffer in silence. _Talk_ to us.” He begs, hands fisting in the scratchy hospital quilt.

Victor waits for a response, but a few minutes pass, and it doesn’t come. He doesn’t know if he was even expecting it to, honestly. Yuuri approaches and gently lays a hand on his shoulder, beckoning him back. The last thing he wants to do is leave the teen’s side, but he knows that his partner is right. They’d pushed enough for one day.

“We aren’t leaving you, Yuri. We’ll be right out in the waiting room if you want us, just say the word.” Victor reassures, finally releasing the fabric from his hands as he reluctantly heads for the door, Yuuri following close behind.

One foot in the hall, Yuuri hesitates for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet, unsteady.

“You aren’t alone. I know that it feels like that a lot of the time, and I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling now, but we’re all...we’re all here for you. Your grandpa, Mila, Yakov, Victor, me...We all care. I’m so, so sorry if something we did gave you the impression that we didn’t.” He explains, glancing at the blond’s unmoving figure from over his shoulder, feeling a sudden rush of attachment. “Anytime you want to talk, we’ll be here. Rest well, Yuri.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, Yuuri isn't sure if it was real or his imagination when he heard a quiet sob, followed by the sound of something soft being thrown at the door. Either way, he tries not to dwell, wracking his brain for a miracle solution he knows he’ll never find.


	4. brothers on a hotel bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late as hecke update. the dorm closed so i had to go back to the 'states for the holidays which was. rough. 
> 
> my first year portfolio is due friday so hopefully when that’s done ill be able to breathe a little more. Thanks for sticking with this tho if you have been!! It really means a lot to me.

Yuri doesn’t send for them. Not after an hour, and not after _five_. By the time Victor and Yuuri have cycled through the limited selection of year-old magazines fanned across the waiting room table, the hopelessness slapped clear across their faces becomes enough for the nurses to take pity on. Every hour or so, the nurse who had sent them away during Yurio’s panic attack would drop by on her rounds to give them whatever little updates she had on Yuri’s condition⏤although, there really wasn’t much of note to report. Other than what had happened earlier, all of Yuri’s vitals had remained stable. The malnutrition and self-harm were both major concerns, she admitted, but not problems that could be fixed by keeping Yuri in the hospital, so he would be free to go as soon as his grandfather signed the discharge forms.

The informality of that frightened Victor in a way he couldn’t place. From what he, personally, had seen of Yuri, the idea of him being thrust back into the world when everything about his condition was still in such a critical place seemed like a terrible idea. Yurio hadn’t shown _any_ interest in accepting the offers made to help him, and with his grandfather on the way, they were running out of time.

For someone who had spent a large portion of his professional life traveling long distances, Victor had had to build up a tolerance to long periods of time spent not doing anything or going anywhere, but this was a completely different matter entirely. Despite the annoying, ever-present ticking of an old analogue clock on the far wall, it felt as though time had gone still. He was breaking fast, and he knew it, counting down every single second and praying that they’d hear something, _anything_ from the blond⏤anything to keep im from the nebulous unease spreading in his gut.

After having known Yuri for years, he was more than accustomed to the teen’s stubborn personality. He knew better than anyone that trying to force answers from Yurio would result in a black eye at best, and the thought of further antagonizing him after what they’d witnessed earlier just seemed...kind of awful. Still, being left completely in the dark with his worry was unbearable in ways he couldn’t even put into words.

There were so many things about the situation that he was desperate to understand, but, most of all, the question of _why_ had been sticking insistently in the back of his mind ever since he first heard Mila’s voicemail. No matter how much he’d wracked his brain between then and now, he couldn’t recollect anything having felt off or wrong about Yurio when he’d been in Hasetsu. The teen was angry, _livid_ , actually, but that was pretty much his default state. Nothing Yurio had said or done had indicated in any way that the he had been feeling self-destructive. He was just...normal. Victor didn’t want to think that he’d been overlooking whatever it was that had been causing Yuri so much distress, but when it really, _really_ came down to it, he _hadn’t noticed anything_. No matter the angle he tried to pick at it from, how he tried to exhume and analyze every fraction of a moment he could recall of Yuri’s behavior all those months ago, he just couldn’t plot ‘A’ to ‘B’ for the life of him.

Could someone so young really have hidden their pain so effectively when they had, at the very least, 3 or 4 adults watching over them at all times?

Could someone as expressive as Yurio honestly and truly be capable of deceiving those around him, even when he was obviously suffering from such potent mental and physical distress?

Or, an even worse thought: had they all just been too caught up in themselves to help him when he needed it?

Victor didn’t even want to think about that. He didn’t even want to consider that glaring, horrible (yet very possible) scenario.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how Yuri felt about him. He did⏤or, at least he _thought_ he did, before all of this had happened. Over the years, there had been many like him: younger skaters who idolized Victor for his fame and strived to catch up to him in terms of skill. Hell, even _Yuuri_ had been a bit like that! But Yurio had been different. Yes, he’d idolized Victor (even if he refused to admit so) but not in the bystander sense that most had. He made a place for himself in Victor’s life; wormed his way in with his unshakable confidence and skill and refused to let anyone get in his way. That’s part of the reason why they were so close. That’s what Victor had always assumed, anyways. Of course he knew that Yuri was angry and disappointed about the broken promise, but, all things considered, he didn’t oppose the competition, either. He didn’t pitch a fit about the unfairness or try and guilt-trip his way into getting what he wanted. Because of that, Victor had just assumed that it hadn’t been that big a deal. Unlike Yuuri, he didn’t _need_ Victor’s guidance. He was so young and already had so much potential, and there was no doubt in his mind that he’d thrive under anyone’s coaching. Yuri was resilient, he’d find a way around it, even if his feelings got a little hurt. That’s how it always was.

But after all of this, he couldn’t help but wonder what had been going through the blond’s head when they’d all assumed he was fine...

“Victor.”

The older man startles, glancing up at his partner’s concerned face. “Yes?”

“You’ve been staring a hole into the tile for nearly 20 minutes now.” Yuuri teases lightly, the left corner of his mouth twitching into a forced half-smile, contrasting with eyes dull from exhaustion. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He hesitates. Yuuri wasn’t dense, so he must have had had a pretty clear idea of where Victor’s thoughts lay. But...as his partner _and_ his coach, was it really a good idea to unload all of this on Yuuri, who was probably going through just as much as he was? It was a delicate situation, and and he didn’t regret coming to Russia to check up on Yurio, but Yuuri should have been using this time to _practice_ , not sit around in a waiting room for the teen to miraculously have a change of heart and turn back to the person they thought they knew. That was unlikely at best and...probably impossible at worst, considering the way Yurio had responded to their previous questioning.

Biting his cheek, Victor smiles back, just as forced. “I’m just daydreaming. Oh! By the way, I think I saw some vending machines back towards the cafeteria! I’ll go buy something to keep us energized.” He deflects quickly, pushing himself to his stiff legs before the other can begin to answer.

He takes the long way and walks slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly through the empty halls. As much as he knew he should be there comforting Yuuri, supporting one another, he just...he couldn’t bring himself to think anything but the absolute worst. Earlier, before they’d spoken to Yurio, there hadn’t been a shadow of a doubt that things would end up okay, _somehow_ . People got hurt, but they also got better, and come hell or high water, the blond had never been one to give up, irregardless of the challenges. His certainty had wavered a bit when they first talked with Yuri, but there were still traces of him⏤his petulance, his rage, he was still _Yuri_. But it was...different. Now, that the posturing he did seemed seemed so glaringly obvious. Even with teeth bared and curses dripping from his scowling lips, there was a glint in his eyes that Victor hadn’t noticed before.

 _Fear_.

Fear of _what_ , he wasn’t sure. But now that he’d seen it, it was unmistakable, and with it came the harrowing realization that _not everyone gets better_.

Passing by the front desk, he almost didn’t notice the figure standing there, eclipsed by a dark overcoat and beret. But the moment he heard the name “Yuri Plisetsky”, Victor instantly stopped in his tracks, gravitating towards the man.

“Ah, yes, here it is,” The secretary smiled, pushing her clipboard forward on the desk. “He’s in room 37C, I just need your name and signature. What is your relationship to the patient?”

The man grunted, scribbling his signature across the form before pushing it back. “I’m Nikolai Plisetsky, his grandfather and guardian.”

“Nikolai.” Victor calls, approaching the other fully now. The man fixes him with a brief, dubious look before realization dawns on his face.

“Victor Nikiforov.” Nikolai confirms, giving the younger man a once-over. “Have you been looking after Yuratcka?”

Victor nods stiffly, heart clenching as he suddenly finds himself unable to meet the other’s eyes. “Come, I’ll take you to his room.”

Victor and Nikolai had met a few times in the past, but they were far from comfortable speaking terms, even with the shared concern for Yuri hanging heavily in the forefront of their minds. He didn’t know whether or not apologizing was appropriate; Yurio wasn’t _dead_ , he remembered, a chill running down his spine. But, still...would giving his sympathy be inconsiderate? THings were far from okay, that much was obvious. They were all scared, concerned, and feeling guilty to some extent for the situation at hand. But it felt like acknowledging the elephant in the room at all would make everything that much more _real_.

In the end, he elects to ignore it, at least until he has a better feel on the situation. “We didn’t expect you to be here until tomorrow.” He notes instead, trying to bring at least some hint of a pleasant tone to his voice.

“I caught a flight.” Nikolai replies, voice low. “Knowing that Yuri was hurt would have distracted me too much to drive.”

Victor winces sympathetically, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I understand what you mean. We flew out almost as soon as we heard, too.”

“‘We’?” Nikolai confirms, raising a brow.

“I came with the Japanese skater, Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor explains, voice tight. Uncertain. “He’s in the waiting room, so I’ll head back once I’ve shown you to Yuri.”

The older man stops for a moment, his eyes hard set and calculating as he looks at Victor. His gaze is piercing, eyes nearly the same shade as Yurio’s. It makes Victor’s skin crawl more than he’d like to admit. He averts his eyes quickly, but the feeling of that piercing gaze hangs like an afterimage in the forefront of his mind.

Niklai is silent for a handful of moments, simply watching. Then, he sighs, running a rough hand through his beard.

“It’s _that_ bad, isn’t it?”

Victor nearly chokes. He doesn’t give his answer, but his feelings are still obvious, and damningly bright under the older man’s gaze. “His room’s just up there. I’ll be in the main waiting room.” He murmurs, hastening his steps to escape that scrutinizing look. To escape the responsibility he fears he’ll find there.

When he finally reaches the waiting room, Yuuri gives him an odd look, but otherwise says nothing about the obvious absence of the drinks he’d went off to get. The look on his face must speak volumes on its own, anyways.

“Did something happen?” Yuuri asks hesitantly, most likely fearing even more bad news.

He winces⏤an aborted failure at a half-smile. “I just met with Yurio’s grandfather. They’ve together right now.”

“Oh.” Yuuri breathes, eyebrows creasing. “Did you tell him what happened earlier?”

“No. I should have, I know.” He laughs bitterly, bringing a hand to his mouth. “Out of everyone, I’m sure Yurio was hiding it from him most of all. It’s going to be a huge blow to see what’s become of his beloved grandson.”

Yuuri nods, placing a reassuring hand on his partner’s shoulder. “It will be, but I think that’s probably for the best.” He admits. “It would be harder to get help for Yurio if he was still putting up a facade of being fine. He _wanted_ us to dismiss him, and we have been. But now that he can’t pretend, he knows that we’ll be keeping an eye on him, so he’ll have to give in and let us help.”

Victor sighs through his fingers, letting the weight of his head drop into his hands. “I know, you’re right; I’m just worried how his grandpa will take it. As Yurio’s guardian, he probably feels like _he’s_ the one responsible for his grandson’s condition, even though he was over 400 miles away in Moscow. He’ll worry and try to push too hard to get the truth, and from how Yurio reacted earlier, that could only lead to him getting hurt, and possibly closing himself off even more.” Victor rambles, going through the scenario in his head. “Honestly, I think it’s best for Yurio to stay in the hospital a little longer. They’re _trained_ for this. Not to mention we can monitor when he’s eating and what he’s doing while he’s here, so he can recuperate for a while until he’s ready to talk about what’s happening.”

“I agree, he’s definitely not in a stable state of mind right now.” Yuuri concedes, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “We should try to talk to his grandfather as soon as possible. With any luck, we’ll be able to explain things and convince him not to discharge Yurio just yet.”

Victor nods, pulling Yuuri up with him as they head down the hall to Yuri’s room. It hadn’t been too long since Nikolai’s arrival, so the two had assumed he would still be talking to his grandson, hopefully reconnecting despite the less-than-optimal circumstances.

When they reach Yuri’s room, they find that the door was closed tight, a quick glance inside the window showing them that the curtain bisecting the room had been drawn, shielding the bed from their sight. They knock twice and receive no answer, only the movement of a shadow beyond the gossamer fabric telling them that someone was inside. As Victor pulls the door open, the two men share a nervous look, noting the absence of background noise previously caused by the heart-rate monitor.

“Yura?” Victor calls uncertainly, stepping into the room. There was a brief shuffling from behind the curtain before a pale hand pulled it back a tad, Yuri’s face peeking out from behind.

“If you’re going to be in here, at least close the fucking door. I’m _changing_.” He growls, though his voice was still thick and heavy, eyes red-rimmed from recent tears.

Yuuri balks at that, grabbing Victor’s sleeve subconsciously. “Are you going somewhere?” _Surely_ they wouldn’t allow him to leave so soon. He’d had a panic attack earlier, for god’s sake!

Yuri scoffs, and even from behind the curtain, Victor knows the teen is rolling his eyes. “What do you think, Katsudon? My grandpa’s here now, so I’m getting the hell out of this dump.”

“They’re letting you leave already? Is that safe?” Victor asks quickly, his voice dripping with concern as he eases Yuuri’s hand into his own. “Where’s your grandpa? I’d like to speak with him.”

“It’s safe because _I’m_ fine.” Yuri snaps, forcing the curtain aside fully to glare at the two. “You don’t have anything to say to him, so just go back to Japan already!”

“Yuratchka, don’t talk to your friends that way.” Nikolai scolds, tucking a bundle of papers under his arm as he enters the room, instantly silencing the teen as he turns to Victor. “What did you want to say to me, Nikiforov?”

Victor glances uneasily at the blond, who is glaring at him warningly, jaw tightly clenched. “Actually, I wanted to say that I don’t think Yuri should be leaving the hospital so soon.” He admits, standing his ground even as he sees Yurio’s hands tightening into fists from his peripheral. “It’s safer here where there are people keeping an eye on him. Did they tell you he had a panic attack earlier?”

Nikolai, at least, seems slightly taken back by that. “No, they didn’t...” He confesses, glancing at his grandson worriedly. “Even so, I’ll be keeping an eye on him myself, so it will be fine. He’s just overworked and in need of rest. There’s nothing they can do here that I can’t do myself.”

“With all due respect, sir, I really think there’s a lot more to it than that!” Yuuri interjects, ignoring Yurio’s growl of ‘ _Shut up, Pig!_ ’. “A lot of Yuri’s recent behavior points toward mental illness. I’ve suffered from anxiety and depression since I was in my late teens, and I really think that⏤”

“That’s not it!!” Yurio shouts, his desperate voice drawing the adults’ attention. “Don’t listen to him, I’m just tired! There’s _nothing_ wrong with me!” There are tears building in his eyes, but he manages to keep them at bay, drawing a ragged breath through clenched teeth. “I just want to go _home_.”

Victor moves to comfort the blond but Nikolai beats him to it, wrapping his grandson up in a close embrace. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you.” He reassures, running a thick-fingered hand through Yurio’s hair. “Don’t worry, _kotyonok_ , I’ll take you home...”

Once Yurio has calmed down a bit, Nikolai eases him back to sit on the bed, rubbing his back comfortingly. “Stay right here. The three of us are going to talk in the hall for a second, and then we’ll leave.” He instructs, and Yurio, surprisingly, doesn’t protest as the adults step out of the room.

Nikolai sighs, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “I appreciate the concern, but this isn’t the right environment for Yuratchka. He’s not going to get better by being here.” He insists, glancing between the two skaters. “I won’t pretend I’m qualified to help him with any sort of mental illness, but I know him better than anyone, and there’s no way any doctor or nurse will coax him to open up. He needs us to support him and be there for him until he’s ready to talk, and we can’t do that if he’s locked up here, feeling vulnerable and trapped.”

“I agree with you and I trust your judgement, but you have to understand the severity of the situation.” Yuuri implores, stepping forward. “Yuri is used to hiding what he’s going through, and he’s going to be way more careful now that we’ve noticed something is wrong. The self-harm and panic attacks are one thing, but he’s also been neglecting his physical health. For him to get better, you’re going to have to monitor what he’s eating, how much he’s sleeping, and where he is and what he’s doing at practically all times of the day. And, considering it’s Yuri, you’ll have to do it all in a way where he won’t even realize you’re keeping close tabs on him.”

Victor nods solemnly, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “It’s a lot of work. Not to mention that he’s afraid of upsetting _you_ , especially, so he’ll be hypervigilant over your actions as well, making it almost impossible to keep a close eye on him.”

Nikolai seems to deflate slightly, mouth drawn into a thin line. “He can’t stand it here. I know that there are risks, but what else can I do?” He asks, shaking his head incredulously. He couldn’t just leave Yuri here, where he was scared and uncomfortable. He _couldn’t_. But, then again, he would have to go back to Moscow sooner or later. Could he really solve all of Yuri’s problems before then?

“I have an idea, actually.” Yuuri starts uncertainly, drawing the others’ attention. “What if Victor and I watched over Yuri? Since I can relate to what he’s going through with his mental health, it might be helpful for him to have someone around who can teach him how to calm down from a panic attack and manage his mental illness, at least to some extent.” He explains. “He also isn’t nearly as close to Victor and I as he is to you, so he might be more likely to open up to people he isn’t so afraid to worry or disappoint.”

“That’s true! He was able to stop Yuri from hurting himself during his attack earlier.” Victor confirms. “My apartment is somewhat far away, but it has an extra bedroom he could use. That way, we could make sure he isn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be during practice, either.”

Nikolai grimaces slightly, hesitant to accept. He knows they’re trying to help; it’s no secret that he is not young or energetic enough to look after Yuri at all times⏤especially considering how it might negatively impact their close relationship. But, even if they aren’t together often, Yuri was still _his_ responsibility, his _family_ , and pawning his grandson off onto others when he was going through as much as he was just didn’t sit right with him.

But...if it was for Yuri’s sake…

“Fine, Yuri can stay with you. It’s probably for the best.” He admits, ignoring the sting to his own selfish pride. “I’ll be by to check on him as often as I can, though. You have to call me immediately if anything happens; I don’t care what hour it is.”

Victor smiles. “You can count on us! We’ll take good care of him.” _And, hopefully make up for not doing so before, when he needed us_. He remembers, fighting the urge to wince as he follows Nikolai back into Yuri’s room.

Yurio glances at the three uncertainly as they enter, trying to feel the mood of their private conversation out by their expressions. Although he’s confident that his grandpa wouldn’t have come all the way down here just to leave him in this hole to suffer, he knows that Victor and Yuuri can be pretty convincing, and he hadn’t exactly given them a good impression of his mental state earlier, either.

“So can we leave now?” Yuri asks plainly. He’s too exhausted to be properly aware of his expression, but he hopes that his humiliating desperation doesn’t show as clearly as he fears.

“Yes, Yuratchka, we’re leaving now.” Nikolai responds, a sigh of relief from the blond following immediately after. “But there are a few things we need to take care of. First of all, you’ll be staying with Victor and Yuuri⏤”

“I’ll _WHAT⏤!_ ”

“ _Yuratchka_ .” Nikolai snaps, a reprimanding tone in his voice that had the blond biting his tongue in an instant. “Let me _finish_. You’ll be staying with Victor and Yuuri for the time being, and I expect you to listen and not cause any trouble for them, okay?” He instructs, his grandson shrinking back under the scolding. “We’ll be getting your things from Yakov’s and then heading down there.”

“But why? Why can’t I stay with you?” Yuri presses, a petulant tone edging into his voice.

His grandfather sighs, seating himself on the bed beside the teen. “It’s just for the best if you stay with them, Yuratchka. I’ll be in the area so you can visit whenever⏤I’ll even make pirozhki for you.”

Yuri glares at Victor and Yuuri out of the corner of his eye, and as threatening as he’s trying to appear, he’s still young and exhausted. Malnourished and hurting.

He’s too tired to fight, and they see it in his eyes when he gives in.

“Fine. But if you two start being gross within my general vicinity, I will _end_ you. I don’t give a damn that it’s your house.” Yuri growls, gritting his teeth harder when his hosts simply smile warmly in response to his threat.

“I wouldn’t expect any less, Yura!” Victor beams, pulling the younger up to his feet. “Now, let’s get you out of this place, shall we? I’m sure you’re hungry for some real food!” He adds hopefully, squeezing the teen’s hands gently, imploringly.

Whether catching on to Victor’s implication or not, Yuri scowls, batting the other’s hands away insistently. “Don’t treat me like a child, idiot.” He grumbles under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as he practically stomps from the room.

Still, despite his petulance, Yuri doesn’t kick up as much of a fuss as expected when they’re all loaded into the taxi and Victor directs the driver to a local favorite restaurant of his. Yuuri contributes that little victory to the fact that the teen was probably hyperaware of his grandfather’s concern for his wellbeing, and files that observation away to use in case they run into trouble with his nutrition later on. _At least it’s a start_. He tells himself, smiling along to one of Victor’s antidotes mindlessly as he pretends not to memorize Yurio’s methodical eating technique (small bites, chewed slowly. Interspersed with sips of ice-water).

_It’s a start._


	5. desert flags

As expected, Yuri is less than pleased with the living arrangements; he’d made as much clear even before he’d even (reluctantly) agreed to stay with the older skaters, but the hypothetical is _nothing_ compared to the real deal. To make matters worse, Victor’s apartment in St.Petersburg hadn’t seen the light of day since he’d taken off on his impromptu expedition to Hasetsu all those months ago, and the short-notice return meant that he’d had no time to make things more presentable. If he had, though, the first priority probably would have been rearranging the guest room to look more like...well, a _guest room_ , and _not_ so much like a shrine to his professional skating accomplishments.

Yuri glares at every merit lining the wall as if it had personally wronged him, brow furrowed in something like a disgusted amusement. “Jesus, it’s like the horrible amalgamate hate-baby of over-egotism and withering talent in here.” He snorts derisively, eyes flitting across the medals, photographs, and certificates lining the shelves before he turns back to the others. “This must be like a middle-school wet dream for you, huh, Katsudon?”

Yuuri flushes all the way to his neck, feeling a light sweat break out on his forehead as Victor simply laughs at the teen’s off-color comments.

“Maybe if you earn more awards than would fit in a shoebox, you’ll want to put them on display, too.” Victor teases, setting Yuri’s suitcase down beside the bed. “So, would you like the grand tour now or tomorrow morning?”

Yuri groans, running a hand across his tired eyes. “Assuming I can’t say ‘never’, I’ll go with tomorrow. I’ve had _more_ than enough of you two for one day.”

“Alright, then! Sweet dreams, Yurio. We’ll see you in the morning.” Victor smiles, ruffling the blond’s hair affectionately. “Yakov wants to go over a few things with you before practice, so we’ll leave at a quarter to 8.”

Yurio grunts noncommittally, harshly slapping the older man’s hand away as he moves towards the bed. Once he’s in range, Yuri practically collapses into a boneless heap on top of the covers, not even bothering to change out of his street clothes as he buries his head into the pillows.

Yuuri worries his lip a bit, anxious about leaving the teen alone. The apartment isn’t huge, so it’d be obvious if Yurio was up and moving about during the night, but the thought of him suddenly taking off was enough to set him on edge a bit. He can’t help thinking back to the hospital, when the teen had looked so fragile and transient, as if he could disappear at a moment’s notice. He chooses his next words carefully: “If you need anything at all, we’re just in the next room, okay?”

“Ah⏤” Victor interjects, grabbing his partner’s hand with a wicked glint in his eye. “But make sure you knock first, Yurio!” He coos, only barely managing to avoid the pillow thrown in his direction as he pulls himself and Yuuri from the room, their guest’s enraged cursing following behind.

Despite the tentative sense of normalcy they’d managed to fabricate following Yuri’s discharge, Yuuri can’t shake his anxiety. He’d left the bedroom door open so he’d be able to hear the moment Yurio left the guest room, but, still, the panging in his chest urges him to go against his better judgement and check in on the teen. He _knows_ that Yuri isn’t as fragile as he seems, that he won’t just pass away quietly in the night from slight malnutrition. They’d even thoroughly checked his things while packing to ensure he hadn’t brought anything to hurt himself with! He _knows_ all of these things, but the fear persists, even in the few, restless moments of sleep he manages to find.

By four a.m., he’s already given up on getting a decent night’s sleep. He’d thought knowing Yurio was safe in the apartment would be enough, but he quickly finds that tiny sliver of reassurance dwindling. The silence scares him far more, because at least if there was noise he’d know Yuri was _alive_ in there, that something hadn’t happened, and⏤

Arms encircle his waist pulling him close to his partner’s chest. “Yuuri.” Victor mumbles, voice husky with sleep as he nuzzles his cheek against the curve of the other’s jaw. “Your breathing’s off. Are you overthinking again?”

A shudder dances down Yuuri’s spine, and he struggles to right himself. He knows he can’t lie to Victor, but the urge to shield him from more worry is there. Despite the way he acted, Victor tended to have a pretty acute sense of others’ emotions. It’s what helped him harness the emotions he did into his skating, that ability to make the audience _feel_ his subject, as if it were their own. It’s why he was so successful.

But it was also the reason why he was so good at catching on when Yuuri’s mood was taking a turn.

The silence spoke for itself. Victor sighed, the breath ghosting softly against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. “It’s about Yurio, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nods, his eyes burning as he flips in Victor’s arms to face him. “I can’t stop thinking about him. What are we going to do, Victor? I want to make it up to him. I want to _help_ him. But how can we expect to do that when we couldn’t in the first place?” He asks frantically, the words cracking a bit when his breath stutters. “Oh, _god_ , what will we do if we make it _worse_ ?” He whispers, hating everything about how watery and thin and utterly _useless_ his voice sounds. Yurio is suffering, and here he is crying for _himself_ . _It’s no wonder we didn’t catch on to what was going on sooner._ He worries, choking back a sob as he covers his eyes with his hands.

Victor shushes him quickly, cradling Yuuri’s head in his hand and bringing it to rest on his own shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” He promises, running his fingers across the other’s scalp soothingly as he feels the tears seeping into the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. “We...we screwed up last time. We weren’t there for him when he needed us, and that’s something that we can’t take back.” He cringes, tightening his hold as unwanted images of Yurio lying in the hospital come washing back over him. “But it’s going to be different now; we’re going to keep him safe and help him as much as we can. We can’t change what happened, but we’ll do everything we can to make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?”

In his arms, Yuuri shivers, nodding weakly as his throat feels too tight to speak. He wants to believe Victor, but he’s so _scared_ . There are problems much too big to be solved by good intentions alone, and _this_ ⏤whatever it is Yurio is leaving unsaid⏤is definitely one of them. There are things they can manage, but, without the full picture, how will they know they aren’t overlooking something even more dire? They _don’t_ . _Can’t_. For now, it’s a game of patience until they can coax Yuri to trust them enough to open up about his problems, and though his defenses are weakened now that his secret has come to light, Yuuri can see the base of the walls he’d built around himself slowly reforming. That sense of normalcy they’d shared earlier was both comforting and terrifying in that respect, because now he knew it was just another screen the teen had put up to keep everyone else at bay. From here on out, they couldn’t let their guard down again, not like last time.

Never, _ever_ again would he let that happen.

* * *

 

It had taken a fair amount of convincing on Victor and Yuuri’s part, but Yakov hadn’t completely barred Yuri from practice for the time being, so long as he follows the rules they would be introducing that morning. Thankfully, the threat of a forced vacation alone is enough to convince the blond to put in his best effort to seem unaffected, which, for Yurio, meant choking down at least _half_ of the breakfast Yuuri prepared for him. Admittedly, he can’t even remember the last time he’d had anything more sufficient than a protein shake before noon, and, judging by the sharp onset of nausea he feels as they drive towards the rink, his body is no longer acclimated to it, either. As light as the toast and egg he’d eaten was, it seemed to have the weight of a stone sitting heavily in his abdomen. He felt himself growing hyper-aware of the feeling of having food in his stomach, each painful clench of his guts like a punishment for being forced to acquiesce control over his body.

Victor and Yuuri watch the teen closely from the rear-view mirror during the drive, unsettled by his silence. The two had been making a conscious effort not to push Yurio for answers or coddle him too much out of fear of raising his suspicion, but that task alone was proving a lot more difficult than they originally had thought. Even at his best, Yurio rarely showed any positive emotion, but now, even his resting scowl as he stared out the window of the cab only set the couple on edge, wanting to soothe away even the subtle traces of unhappiness in his pale face.

Whether from his anxiety about meeting with Yakov or subliminally picking up on his hosts’ concern, Yurio only seemed to grow more agitated as they reached the skating rink. The car hadn’t even come to a full stop before he was throwing the door open, thrusting his boots through the thick, ice-glazed snow before the other two could even think to run after him.

Despite his attempt at feigning indifference, it was obvious from the way Yakov hovered at the corner of the rink closest to the entrance that he had been impatiently awaiting their arrival. Always the professional, he doesn’t flinch as Yuri slams the heavy metal doors open, the sound echoing loudly through the building and instantly drawing the other skaters’ attention to the blond.

As they come face to face, Victor and Yuuri trailing in not far behind, Yakov gives the teen a tense once-over, as if expecting to see the answers they all desired written clear across his face. He finds frustratingly little, only drawing himself back when Yuri arches a pale eyebrow at him, mouth threatening to curl into his patented ‘fuck-off’ scowl.

“How are you feeling, Yuri?” He asks after a moment, voice level but still lacking in its usual brusque tone⏤something that does not go unnoticed by the boy. To make matters worse, he does that _thing_ , that sympathetic, infuriating, condescending _damned_ _shoulder_ _touch_ that every adult subconsciously seemed to think would soothe away whatever it was Yuri was going through, but really only served to elevate the indignation building in his gut.

“I’m _fine_.” Yuri snaps, roughly slapping his coach’s hand off of his shoulder before he can even think better of it. “Just tell me what it is you called me here for.”

Yakov sighs, biting back the urge to scold his protege if only for the fact that he isn’t quite sure how to handle him, now, and desperately wants to avoid a repeat of their _last_ interaction.

“While you are allowed to practice, you ought to keep in mind that this is a _privilege_ , and I think it goes without saying that there will be ground rules, Yuri.” He warns, a chastising tone creeping into his voice that has Yuri’s eyes narrowing into a glare. “In addition to the hospital’s nutritional plan, you will also have a strict schedule to ensure that you don’t overwork yourself. From 9-12:30 you will be skating with a mandatory 10 minute break every hour. Then, you will have until 2 to eat and rest before going back to the ice until 5:30, after which you will change and go visit your grandfather for dinner.”

“Is that all?” Yuri asks sarcastically, fists clenched so tightly at his sides that he can feel the indentations of his nails where they cut into the skin of his palms. He’s overly conscious of his surroundings: Victor and Yuuri pretending not to eavesdrop in his peripheral, Mila gliding across the ice, unabashedly staring as she muddles through her routine, Georgi leaning against the far wall, staring ‘casually’ at his phone. He can feel their attention burning into him, and although he expected this to happen, it takes everything he has not to storm directly out of the building then and there, not even 5 minutes into his return.

“One more thing,” His coach adds hastily, glancing behind to where he knows Victor is keeping watch. “While you’re here, you aren’t to be without supervision. I mean it, Yuri. No solo practices, no sneaking off to god knows where during breaks. Unless you’re in the washroom or changing, you have to be in the same room as someone else.”

Yuri narrows his eyes, lip twisting into a snarl as he practically vibrates with rage. “ _Hah_?!”

Yakov remains unmoving, arms crossed over his chest resolutely as he holds the other’s glare. “It’s for your safety, Yuri. Until we can figure out a better way to help you, we need to cover all of our bases.”

Victor steps forwards then, hands drawn in a placating gesture as he steps between the two. “Yurio, what Yakov means to say is that⏤”

“Who says I want your help? Who says I _need_ your help?!” Yuri snarls, pushing Victor roughly out of the way with his shoulder. “Don’t treat me like a child. What happened was a momentary lapse in judgement, I’m not made of fucking _glass_.” He spits, baring his teeth as he glowers pointedly at his coach.

With a heavy sigh, Yakov steps back, running a coriaceous hand across his face in exasperation. “This is not up for discussion, Yuri. These are the rules, and you can follow them, or you can sit out this season.” He warns, brushing past the teen and out of the rink towards his office, no longer willing to argue lest he make the situation any worse.

Yuri bites back the argument building in his throat as he hears the office door slam shut, thin body shaking with barely-restrained indignation. He’s only broken from the spell as he feels Yuuri place a comforting hand on his back, whipping around on his heel to stomp towards the locker room.

The rink falls into an uncomfortable silence as the locker room door closes with a resonating _slam_ , jarring those left from the scene they had just witnessed. An unspoken worry is passed as they glance between one another, Mila gliding towards Victor and Yuuri from where she’d stopped to listen in a few minutes earlier.

“Victor!” She calls, leaning against the partition and beckoning her ex-rinkmate over. “Yakov told us Yuri was staying with you. Has he said anything about what’s going on?”

Victor sighs exhaustedly, running a hand through his grey hair as he glances toward the door the blond had exited through. “Not a word. And, if his attitude just now was anything to go off of, it’ll be another hundred years before he does.”

“Well...I guess he just needs more time.” She suggests, offering up a weak smile. “Funny, he hates being called kitten, but for all the cajoling he needs to warm up to people, he seems exactly like one.”

Victor smiles in response to the comparison. “Maybe we should take him to the vet. At least _they’d_ be able to tell us how to go about getting him healthy again.” He jokes dryly, sharing a tired look with Yuuri as his partner finally pulls his eyes from the direction of the locker room⏤no doubt worrying for Yurio’s safety.

“Go to him, Yuuri. He won’t think it’s weird if you’re just putting your things away.” Victor suggests, smiling softly when the other’s eyes light up in recognition, scurrying off towards the heavy door.

When he turns back to Mila, she’s giving him a knowing smirk, a lock of auburn hair twisted in her fingers. Victor swallows heavily. _Here we go…_

“Sooo…” She hums, propping her head up on her hands as she leans against the partition. “I guess things are going well with you two?”

“Mila…” He warns, giving her a wary look.

She holds her hands up in a dismissing gesture, the smirk still plastered on her lips as she pushes herself back onto the ice. “I”m just saying, Vitya. Not everyone would follow their boyfriend to another country to take care of some teenager they barely know.” She teases, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she shouts across the rink. “Something to think about!”

Victor can’t fight the groan building in his throat, half collapsing against the partition with his head resting in his arms.

 _God_ , he was never going to catch a break, was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, babes, it's only downhill from here :^)


	6. ocean's brawl

For the contention it caused, the upside to Yakov’s ultimatum was that it really _did_ scare Yuri enough to follow most of the rules they’d laid out for him. Still, he complained the whole way and found methods of going around the rules without _technically_ breaking them⏤especially when it came to his disordered eating habits. Not to mention that he’d taken to locking himself in the washroom during his scheduled break times instead of interacting as they’d wanted him to. But, all things considered, it was inarguably a marked improvement compared to how he had been functioning before. At the very least, he usually managed to eat a decent portion of his lunch, and they hadn’t noticed anything to signify recent self-harm, which was more than enough in Victor and Yuuri’s opinion.

Practice was practice, though. The apartment was a different matter entirely.

“Yuriooo~!” Victor whines impatiently, rapping his knuckles against the guest room door for what felt like the 50th time that evening. “Come out of there, we’re going to watch a movie!”

Yuri covers his ears tightly with the pillow, pressing his face against the mattress and praying to god it’s enough to smother himself. “Do you think I fucking care what _you_ do? Leave. Me. _Alone_ .” He growls, voice slightly muffled by the fabric. It’s just another part of the routine of living with Victor and Yuuri at this point, his refusal to even _consider_ the idea of leaving the blanket nest to do whatever asinine ‘bonding activity’ they’d try to weasel him into that night. Nothing he could think of was worth that humiliation, not even with the knowledge that giving in to their whims would appease that incessant need to coddle him for at _least_ one night.

There’s silence from the opposite side of the door, and Yuri foolishly allows himself to believe Victor actually listened to him for once and gave up. A hope which is quickly dashed away by another knock, gentler this time.

“Please, Yuri? Just for tonight. We’ll even let you pick what we watch.” Yuuri calls, voice still edging on hopeful, despite the fact that they’ve all seen this situation enough to know that nothing will come of it.

He still doesn’t consider it⏤doesn’t give himself the option to before firing off one of the pre-written answers he’s catalogued away for situations like this. Burrowing deeper into the covers, Yuri allows his mind to drift, listening for the receding footsteps before the rumble of voices from the T.V. speakers begins in next room. It’s not hard to see how fed up they’re getting with him⏤even if Yuuri _is_ much better at hiding it than Victor is. Every night, it’s the same thing: some olive branch extended, slapped away by his own hand. They haven’t given up yet, but it’s coming. He _knows_ it is, and that thought is simultaneously a relief and a _huge_ source of anxiety. Deep down, some foolish part of him wants to relax into the warm embrace of their affection⏤to believe that they’re doing this because they _do_ care as much as they pretend to, but he doesn’t trust that fleeting hope in the slightest.

Over the past month, being around the couple had gone from simply annoying to...something he wasn’t quite sure how to put into words. Under the frustration he felt deep into his bones, under the anger only a second’s notice away from boiling over, he’d slowly come to notice a dull aching at the core of it all, like the radiating pinpricks of pain after a bruise. Any prolonged amount of time spent playing into the saccharine delusion that everything was fine only made the ache that much more noticeable. Letting himself believe in Victor and Yuuri’s care meant that it would hurt that much more when the illusion eventually shattered, bringing with it the sobering realization that he didn’t _deserve_ their love. No matter what he did, he’d be the third wheel, the tagalong, the _outsider_.

No matter how they pretended to care, this wasn’t home for them, and it _definitely_ wasn’t home for _him_.

* * *

“I’m worried.” Yuuri concedes later that evening, as he and Victor are undressing for bed. His partner raises an eyebrow in his direction and he sighs, “ _Yes_ , more so than usual…”

“About Yurio?” Victor supplies, not even needing any prompting at this point in their pseudo-guardianship over the teenager. “Why? Has he said anything to you?”

Yuuri scrubs his hands across his face tiredly, frustration and hurt welling up in his chest. “He hasn’t, and I think that’s the biggest problem. It’s been a _month_ , Vitya, and I know we didn’t go into this expecting him to just spill his guts at the drop of a hat, but he hasn’t told us _anything_ . I’m worried that he’s getting back into the habit of hiding it, and this time his excuses are going to be better, because he has to deflect all suspicion against him.” He explains, clutching at his hair as he settles on the edge of the bed. Victor’s arms wrap around his chest from behind, and he nuzzles his face into his partner’s neck subconsciously. “I know that we just have to be patient and wait for him to trust us with his vulnerability, but I’m losing hope that it’s ever going to happen. Waiting feels so helpless. I know it’s impossible, but I just want to be set at ease with the knowledge that this is all getting _through_ to him, somehow.”

Victor nods sympathetically, burying his nose into Yuuri’s hair. “I’ve been thinking...maybe we should try pushing more?” He suggests, immediately backtracking as he feels the other stiffen in his arms. “I don’t mean anything intense like a confrontation, but isn’t it possible that we’ve given him _too much_ freedom? I know that we want to wait to earn his trust so he feels comfortable enough to confide in us, but…” He cringes, turning his next words over carefully in his mind before he even dares to speak them. “If this is... _serious_ , I mean, if he’s started to self-harm again, then I think his physical safety really takes priority over his feelings.”

Biting his cheek, Yuuri considers the implication of his partner’s words. On one hand, he agreed⏤Yuri’s safety was the main priority. But...on the other, any step in the wrong direction could shatter what little, tentative trust the teen had in them. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s...I know how it’s going to sound⏤” He hesitates, Yuuri turning in his arms to face him. “But I was thinking that it...might not be such a bad idea to check his room? Just to be sure he hasn’t been secretly hurting himself.”

“Victor...I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Yuuri cautions, biting at his lip anxiously. “For starters, it’s a _huge_ breach of trust. I agree with you that keeping an eye on his safety is important, but if Yuri finds out about us violating his privacy like that, he’ll probably close himself off from us for good.”

Victor sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right; I know. I just...I need to know for sure that he isn’t cutting anymore. Besides, it’ll only hurt him _if_ he finds out, right? I’ll be careful!”

“Victor, don’t. At least not for now, okay?” Yuuri reasons, cradling the other’s cheek in his palm. “If we find any indication that he’s been self-harming, then I’ll be on your side with this. But, unless that happens, I don’t think we should risk it.”

A moment passes in silence, Yuuri’s warning hanging in the air as Victor struggles to find a decent argument. In the end, he acquiesces, head turned towards the far wall as the corners of his mouth fall into a tense frown. “Fine, you’re probably right. But I’m holding you to that, okay?” He teases lightly, pecking the brunette on the nose. “For now, let’s just sleep. We can figure out what to do about Yurio later.”

With the lights down and the solid warmth of his lover beside him in bed, Victor finds himself lying awake again⏤a problem that is becoming more and more common as of late. He wants to trust Yuuri’s opinion above all, but the fact of the matter is that he’s _scared_ . Yurio had hidden his self-harm from them before, and Victor doesn’t doubt that he’d be both likely and _able_ to do it again. What have they been fighting for this past month if not to ensure that they didn’t make the same mistakes all over again? Could they honestly pretend that anything but the location has changed from then to now? _No_ . Intention was one thing, but _action_ was another. Yes, their care for the teen would help heal him eventually, but they needed to break down the first barrier before they could even hope to make any progress.

And if that meant taking a risk with his and Yurio’s relationship, then he could learn to justify his actions.  

* * *

 

A week passes, and Victor makes a decision.

As the front door clicks shut, he waits tensely, counting to 100 and back in his head before slipping into the guest room. It’s a cold saturday morning, and with Yuuri out shopping and Yurio spending time with his grandfather at Yakov’s, the older skater feels the final thread of his resolve crack as he gives into his concern.

 _I’m sorry, Yurio, Yuuri._  He thinks to himself, running his hands underneath the desk and bedside table for anything sharp that might have been taped there. _I promise that this is for the best._

He searches _everything_ ⏤in the creases of folded clothes, between pages of books, and even in the few millimeters of space between the moulding and wall. In the end, it’s only because he’s known Yuri since the other was a child that he manages to find what he’s looking for. After all, he was the one who taught the blond this trick back when they’d just met. Nearly a decade ago, when he was still a fresh-faced 18 year old in the prime of his career, and Yurio⏤a tiny little first-grader with a bowl-cut and a farfetched dream.

 _[If you don’t want Yakov to find out you’ve been eating unhealthy snacks_ , _stuff the wrapper inside something else so he won’t see it_!]

He remembers it so vividly, how Yuri’s wide, innocent eyes had peered up at him in amazement, as if he’d just been told the deepest secrets of the universe. How sweet the child had been, stuffing the wrapper from a candy bar into an empty milk carton with a conspiratorial smile at Victor that afternoon during the elementary school class’s snack break. How he’d stifled a laugh behind a gloved hand at the gesture, fumbling a toe-loop and getting an earful from Yakov for not paying attention to his routine.

It was tinted rose in his mind, those carefree hours of youth when he’d held the world in the palm of his hand. When he and Yuri had held no secrets between them. When they’d been _close_.

But that memory is shattered as his eye catches the glinting light at the bottom of an old shampoo bottle he’d taken from the wastebasket. He swallows thickly, and, as if in a daze, he upturns it over his open palm. The metal is freezing as it touches his skin, and in his panic addled mind, he still finds the faculties to recognize the tiny blades for what they are⏤despite never having seen them so painstakingly removed from the razor before. Vaguely, his stomach lurches, the world tilting like a carnival ride under his feet, leaving him so disoriented with shock that he doesn’t hear the front door open and close until it’s too late.

“ _What the fuck are you doing_.”

Victor startles, and the empty bottle and blades go spilling across the carpet as he rushes to stand. “Yuri⏤you’re⏤I was⏤”

“Fucking _save it_ .” The teen growls, his body tense and rigid with indignation, a livewire crackling with electricity as his lips pull apart in a livid scowl. “I can’t _believe_ you. After all that bullshit you fed me about waiting for me to ‘open up on my own’, you didn’t actually care about what I was feeling, did you? No, you just wanted to pick me apart so you could go back to Yakov and tell him _all_ about what a fucking hero you are for dealing with me all this time! God, I can’t believe I was _stupid_ enough to trust you!”

“I was worried!” Victor counters, taking a tentative step towards the teen. “You⏤you never tell us what’s going on. I was _scared_ . And now...I see that my fears weren’t completely unfounded, either.” He adds, risking another step to brush his fingers across the fabric of the other’s coat, a clumsy attempt at pulling him closer. “Please, just _talk_ to us. This is serious, Yuri!”

Yuri slaps his hand away, flinching backwards until his back hits the wardrobe with a resounding _slam_. He’s trembling from head to toe, like a feral cat arching its back in warning. “How can I?! Even if I talk to you, it’s not going to make _any_ goddamn difference because you obviously can’t understand any- _fucking_ -thing about me!” He hisses, giving Victor a scalding look when he makes to close the distance between them. “You blew it, _Vitya_. I’m getting out of here. I can’t stand to look at your face right now.”

“Yuri, wait⏤!” Victor calls, lunging forward to grab the teen’s shoulder before he can even process what he’s doing past the desperate need to keep Yuri in his line of sight.

Both of the blond’s open palms make contact with Victor’s chest simultaneously, pushing him backwards with all the strength in his waiflike body. Victor loses his balance, stumbling. With his back against the carpet, there’s a sudden jab of pain as one of the little blades slices into his right palm, drawing a hiss from parted lips. As he struggles to right himself through the haze of shock, Victor blurrily hears the front door slam shut, and the realization of it is enough to force him into action.

Keys clenched tightly in his uninjured hand, Victor sprints down the stairs to where his car is parked, only a cursory glance in his mirrors before he’s speeding down the road. Thanks to the fact that Yuri isn’t overly familiar with the area, it doesn’t take a genius to guess that he’d head in the direction they traveled most often on their rare walks around town. On the empty sidewalk, Victor spots the teen almost immediately, rolling the window down as he slows to the other’s walking pace.

“I’m so sorry for breaking your trust, Yurio. Please come back so we can talk about this!” He pleads, patting the passenger seat in invitation. He wonders vaguely about calling Yuuri for backup, but isn’t too eager to disclose the fact that he’d gone over his partner’s head and managed to royally fuck everything up. Besides, it’s just _one_ fight. Surely he could manage that much on his own.

Yuri scoffs incredulously, speeding up his pace slightly and refusing to make eye-contact. “Fuck no. I have nothing to say to you, Nikiforov.”

 _Ouch_ . Victor thinks, the dull throbbing of his injured hand momentarily eclipsed by the icy tone in the blond’s voice. There was none of the brash insincerity his insults usually carried this time around, and that was more disheartening than Victor was willing to admit. “I know...I deserve that. But I’m _worried_ for you, you don’t know this area well and I don’t want you to get lost. _Please_ , get in the car.”

“What part of ‘nothing to say’ is so fucking _hard_ for you, asshole?!” Yuri snaps, slamming his foot down on the pavement as he finally meets Victor’s gaze. “I don’t want to talk to you⏤I don’t even want to _see_ you! Just leave me alone already!!”

“Fine, you don’t have to talk to me!” Victor concedes, a warm trickle of blood racing down his bent forearm. “Just get in the car, okay? I’ll take you back to the apartment, or to your grandpa or whatever you want! Just get. In. The car.” He stresses, feeling the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes as Yurio picks up his pace again.

“Not on your life. I can take care of my own damn self without you and that fucking _pig_ interfering with me.” The blond snarls, and that’s absolutely _it._ Insulting him was one thing⏤it was _his_ bad decision, after all. But insulting Yuuri when he’d been nothing but helpful and accommodating this whole time was _way_ over the line.

Worry gives way into uninhibited anger as he slams his bloodied palm into the horn, startling the teen enough to finally scare that look off of his face.

“GET IN THE FUCKING CAR, NOW!”

Whether it’s the sudden change in demeanor or just the sheer tone in his voice, Yuri complies, scrambling into the passenger seat as Victor practically floors it.

Flexing his fingers over the steering wheel, Victor grits his teeth, not taking his eyes off the road for a second even as he feels Yuri’s frightened gaze boring into him. “I know that you think you’re such an adult, but you’re _not_ , Yuri. You’re a child and you’re under my care. I know that you’re angry, but you will not speak to me like that, and I’m not going to stand for you pointlessly insulting Yuuri just because _you_ feel miserable.”

Yuri moves his eyes to the road as well, jaw tensed. “You don’t know anything…” He mumbles, digging his nails into his forearms hard enough to leave little bloodied crescents in his pale skin. “I don’t know what your angle is, trying to act like you’re my _dad_ , or whatever, but you need to stop. Don’t act like you understand me.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand you!” Victor snaps, forgoing his turn signal completely as he turns off onto a side road. “I don’t understand how you can be surrounded by people who desperately love and want to help you and still call them all liars! Who in their right mind would try this hard if they didn’t care about you, even a little?!”

Yuri flinches at the sudden turn, barely managing to avoid smacking his head off of the window as he grips tightly to the seat belt. “You know, you always throw the word ‘love’ around like it means something, but I don’t think you even understand what love is! Obligation isn’t _love_ . You do these things because you _think_ you’re supposed to, but where does that leave me? The pitiful orphan _charity case_ who’s so fucking dysfunctional that he can’t even survive without a bunch of adults holding his hand every step of the goddamn way?!” He’s shaking again, fists pressed hard against his eyes as he folds in half over his knees, as if bracing to puke. The desperate anger is rolling off of him in waves, internally cursing himself for the sheer sin of having been born in the first place. At least if he hadn’t been, then this situation would never have come to be.

They’re not even driving in the right direction anymore, just circling the marketplace as Victor tries to reign in his anger enough to see straight. When he speaks again, it takes all of his effort to keep his voice level, pure, unadulterated fury boiling in his gut. “Yurio, we’ve been very patient with you, but you’re acting like a spoiled brat!” He barks, slamming his fists down on the wheel as he glares at the teen across the center console. “Yuuri and I understand that you’re hurting and we want to help you, but I’m starting to think you don’t want to get better! You wanted our attention, right? Well, you got it! What more do you want?!”

Yuri shudders, feeling electric, like a string pulled taut about to _snap_ . “What do I want? What do _I_ want?!” He laughs hysterically, tearing at his hair and absolutely _loathing_ the way his eyes start to burn. “All I want is to be left fucking _alone_ ! I didn’t ask for your goddamn help!! What, did you think it would be all chocolate and roses once you _forced_ me to stay with you? Did you think I’d compliantly spew my guts out for you just because you and Piggy want to play house and decide you know what’s best for me? As if!!” He screeches, throat burning like it might bleed. He’s never felt like this before⏤never been faced with such raw, deep weight against his chest. It feels vaguely like he’s suffocating, drawing in too many breaths and somehow not enough, as if he’s holding his head underwater.

At the repeated insult, Victor feels his jaw tense, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles go white. “We were trying to be nice to you, Yuri, because despite what your fucking _martyr complex_ leads you to believe, people are _allowed_ to care about you.” He bites, spine tense and rigid with the white-hot outrage pouring into his system as he pulls the car into a space just outside of the park. “Although, I don’t really see _why_ we should bother, considering you only seem to care about yourself. Everyone hurts, Yurio. Grow up and stop acting like the world’s against you just because you don’t get your way. Maybe you’d understand _Agape_ better if you actually opened your heart and thought of someone else for once!”

In his peripheral, Victor watches the teen flinch, curling further into himself. It’s dead silent in the car, save for Yurio’s ragged breathing, and he briefly entertains the thought that maybe he’d won the argument, after all. Thoughts of turning back in the direction of the apartment cross his mind, but then Yurio speaks again, a quiet whisper as his small hand finds the door handle and pushes it open.

“Fuck you, Victor…” The blond exhales, voice deceptively calm as he hoists himself out of the vehicle. “If that’s how you really feel, don’t fucking come looking for me. Go back to your _precious little life_ with Yuuri while you still can. You won’t ever have to force yourself to worry about me again.”

Rolling his eyes at the dramatics, Victor makes no move to stop him. “Fine by me, maybe some time by yourself will help you realize how _impossible_ you’re being.”  He replies, missing the brief flash in Yuri’s eyes as the door is slammed shut, the blond taking off in a sprint down the road, further away from the apartment.

He watches the lithe figure disappear into the distance, teeth grit and throat tight. _He’ll be back later._ He reassures himself, cutting the wheel and throwing the car into reverse. _We’ll talk about it then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes The Angst(tm)


	7. Flow

Sometimes, at the edge of a waking nightmare, the remembered sensation of falling through the ice will hit Yuri when he least expects it. Unfortunately, it’s never any less jarring than the day it happened. 

He’d been just a child then, still living in his grandfather’s little townhouse in Moscow. Although he didn’t know it at the time, it would be only a month before his mother would quietly pack up her things and vanish into the night, leaving him for good, and a few more still before he’d turn six and move to St.Petersburg to train. 

But, that didn’t matter. What mattered to him then was that the lake near their home had just frozen over, and the world to him at five years old was a perfect, prepackaged sliver of innocence in a fragile snow globe world. It seemed to burst and radiate with beauty and wonder from every angle. 

From the bench on the shore, his grandfather had kept a close, watchful eye out as Yuri glided haltingly across the ice, fumbling through rough figure-eights with flushed cheeks and his little arms held out for balance. The sun had just begun its descent over the edge of the horizon, bathing the world in a lens of brilliant gold and orange. Nikolai’s voice had carried across the frozen surface of the lake then, at last beckoning the child back to land for dinner. 

So focused on his footwork as he clumsily slid his way to the edge of the shore, Yuri failed to notice the way the ice bent until it was already too late. 

There was a sharp, sickening lurch in his stomach; hearing and feeling the collapse without ever really seeing it. It was an instant stretched to eternity as that tense sound, like the groan of a great beast, broke the soft silence of the empty park. There wasn’t even time to glance down before he felt the world fall away under his skates. He watched his grandfather’s face contort with panic before his vision was almost completely blocked out, the cover of ice above him a starless sky, swallowing him whole. His body went into shock almost immediately, limbs going numb as his heavy winter clothes absorbed the subzero water surrounding him, pulling him deeper into the abyss. With no air in his lungs, his traitorous body inhaled on pure instinct alone, filling him with liquid so cold that it burned like embers through the searing paths it made into his lungs, stomach, and throat. 

In that moment, there was no trace of the beautiful world he’d left behind. His heart stuttered, seizing in his chest as if preparing to stop altogether. He was completely isolated, the water claiming him for its own as he was dragged deeper into a deceptively calm embrace. All that remained was the burning numbness of the cold surrounding him,  _ filling _ him, before his body and mind seemed to go blank with static, relinquishing control. A light blinking slowly, slowly, before disappearing for good. Like a candle, snuffed. 

A decade later, as he sprints down the sidewalks of St.Petersburg, feeling his rapid pulse all the way to the soles of his feet, Yuri thinks he’s finally found a feeling that overshadows the crushing hopelessness he’d glimpsed as a child underneath the ice. 

He knew it. He knew it was going to happen all along, so why the  _ fuck  _ can’t he  _ breathe _ ? The world isn’t collapsing. The sky isn’t falling overhead. There was no earthquake, no lightning, no typhoon; just Victor’s voice telling him every-fucking-thing he’s been telling himself for months⏤ _ years _ now. Every insecurity, laid bare and open and he feels so  _ small _ . 

The ice didn’t shatter underfoot, but Yuri swears he heard it  _ bend _ . 

He stumbles over his feet, breath still being dragged into his lungs in ragged, painful gasps while he half-collapses against the side of a shop. There’s a tingling numbness from the tips of his fingers to his toes, and through the haze of his teary, swimming vision, Yuri belatedly pieces together the fact that he’s having a  _ panic attack _ . 

Sliding down to the filthy cobblestone, he pulls his knees to his chest and tries to will his muddled mind into remembering the breathing techniques Yuuri had taught him almost a month earlier. It’s the first attack he’s had since being discharged from the hospital, and as much as he wants to convince himself he can handle it on his own (just like everything else) he has no idea where to start when his brain feels like it’s been wiped clean of all cohesive thought. 

Licking his lips anxiously, he closes his eyes tight and tries to think back to what Yuuri had told him. Tries to remember the soft cadence in his voice, pointedly keeping it below the level where Victor would overhear in the next room. 

_ Breathe in through your nose for 3 seconds, then exhale slowly through your mouth. If it helps, I’d recommend having a mantra to focus on. Repeating that it’s going to be okay is one of the only things that really helps me come back when I’m out of it. It’s a good way of grounding yourself.  _

Yuri breathes deeply, counts the rhythm by the tapping of his fingers against the stone. In the back of his mind, he hears Yuuri’s voice on repeat, a gentle assurance of  _ it’s going to be okay _ . His head is still a hazy mess and his throat and chest are burning from exertion, but it  _ helps _ .

It takes a while, but eventually he comes down; all trembling, restless limbs and a headache eager to make itself known. As he scrubs hastily at his damp cheeks, it’s like a switch flips, and he feels his mind go blank all at once. Until then he’d been feeling entirely too much, but now, suddenly, nothing at all. There’s a disconnect there, and he watches the world go by in a daze as he pushes himself to shaky feet and starts down the road again. His body is on autopilot, not  _ really  _ there but still fixating on the tiniest fragments of thought as they occur to him. 

_ Headache.  _ His mind supplies, spurring his tired feet forwards more or less against his own conscious volition. People pass by him in a blur, faces obfuscated and warped as he ghosts down one of the busier streets. Something is off and he knows it, but he can’t find it in himself to care, sinking into the lukewarm embrace of a lucid daydream. After all, thinking of nothing is infinitely better than having to  _ remember _ . 

It takes him a few minutes, but he’s able to process the sign to a pharmacy in the distance, and it pings something in the back of his mind enough to drive him in. 

Once inside, though, he can’t seem to summon up a concrete reason as to why he’d come, and ends up hovering mindlessly by the door until a woman approaches him. She’s moving her mouth, and he’s pretty sure she works there, but the things she says and the way she looks are lost on him. If he forces it, he can just make out the tone of her voice, but that’s all he can process past the static clouding his brain. His tongue feels thick and foreign inside of his mouth as he mumbles “Aspirin?” and prays that it will suffice, as it’s all that he can give.

Evidently, it does. She leads him to the back shelf and says something else to him, but it feels like his head has been filled with cotton, so he just grabs the first bottle with a picture on it and follows her up to the counter. After paying, he only comes back to himself when his name breaks through the haze like a pinprick, startling him into a moment of sobriety. 

“W-what…?” He stutters out, finally meeting her eyes. Coming back is harsh, harsher than he’d thought it would be. It’s like his head has broken through a wave, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of the pain radiating outward from the pit of his chest, like something vital has been removed there. 

The woman leans forward, speaking in hushed tones as she gives him a once over. “You’re Yuri Plisetsky, right? I thought I recognized you, but you act so differently in the T.V. interviews...” She explains, a tense, uncertain look in her eye as she pauses. “You...you  _ are _ Yuri Plisetsky, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t respond at first. He can’t. Deep somewhere in the recesses of his head, he knows what that name must mean to the others. The Russian Punk. Ice Tiger. Fairy. A headstrong teenage boy with boundless talent and the world at his toes...

[ _ Grow up and stop acting like the world’s against you just because you don’t get your way. Maybe you’d understand Agape better if you actually opened your heart and thought of someone else for once! _ ]

A selfish brat, who only cares about himself. 

A burden on the few people who actively try to help him.

A  _ disappointment _ .

He silently takes his bag, glancing down at his filthy sneakers against the bleached tile as he feels the numbness edging back in. “I’m not so sure, myself.” He mutters, not really caring whether or not she hears it as he shambles out of the automatic door, immersing himself in the mindless flow of the crowd. 

He loses himself in the rhythm of walking, hood pulled to overshadow his face as he moves with the strangers like a school of fish. The sky is growing dark overhead, night slithering in, and with it the harsh realization that he’ll have to go  _ somewhere _ . 

Victor’s apartment is out of the question⏤that much was obvious. Even knowing that Yuuri would probably still be willing to take him in, he can’t stomach the thought of seeing Victor again⏤having to come to terms with the hatred for him clouding those exhausted blue eyes. By now, he’d probably already told Yuuri everything that happened, anyway, and earning his partner’s detestation sounded like a surefire way to reach the end of the brunette’s seemingly endless hospitality. He’d been weighing them down for too long, and this would push them to breaking point. He couldn’t blame them for the inevitable (especially when it was his own damn fault) and he wasn’t going to make things worse by showing up when they’d only just gotten rid of him.

As much as he knew he could turn to Yakov, Lilia, Mila, or his grandfather for a place to stay, the knowledge that it would mean laying bare how pathetic he’s been is more than enough reason to have him brushing away those possibilities. He could practically feel the disappointment radiating off of them, hear them yelling, asking when he was going to stop ‘acting out’ and start being the adult he claimed to be. It was too much weight to carry. They had been overprotective before, but if they didn’t come to their senses and drop him now, they’d  _ never _ leave him alone after this. 

His brain is still a little muddled, but even so, he knows he can’t justify renting a hotel room for the night. Even if they didn’t flat-out turn him away for being a minor, he did  _ not _ have the disposable income to blow upwards of 5,000 ₽ on some luxury. If it really came down to it...he’d just have to bite the bullet and go back to Yakov’s with his tail between his legs. At the very least, they’d probably have the decency to delay berating him until morning, once they realize how shitty he looks. 

Just as he’s considering giving up and looking up the best bus route back to his coach’s house, he sees it, off to the left and only slightly obfuscated by the trees. Like most of the architecture in a major city like St.Petersburg, the bridge is old but well-kept. Objectively pretty. It’s small and secluded and, for some reason, the darkness touching down around it immediately reminds him of those few weeks he spent in Hasetsu. 

He doesn’t think, just heads toward it. There’s an embankment at the side, and, disregarding a few empty bottles and dubious stains, it’s relatively clean and dry. It’s peaceful underneath. Quiet. Just the background noise of the babbling water and soft hum of cars passing overhead. 

Sitting on the cool ground, Yuri doesn’t have to try hard to let himself disconnect. The headache he’d been ignoring for the last hour or so is throbbing insistently again, and he dazedly reaches into his bag and pulls out the bottle from earlier.  He doesn’t think, just dry-swallows three pills and lays back against the concrete. Closes his eyes. If he focuses on any tangible thought, all paths in his traitorous mind just keep going back to Victor, Victor, Victor. Everything he said echoes back with shocking clarity, and it hurts so much  _ more _ than it should when he always knew it would come to this. Had he honestly held on to some foolish sliver of hope that it wouldn’t turn out this way, or was he really just  _ that  _ foolishly unaware of where he stood⏤what kind of person he was? 

It’s too much to dwell on, so he just shuts it off and lets himself drift for a while. The last thing he wants to do is remember those words. The weight they carried. 

The finality of knowing he’d been given up on for good. 

_ Hurts _ . His brain supplies, unhelpfully. Every pain he had been feeling since the fight had escalated, coalescing into that all-consuming, nebulous aching at his core. He takes another pill. When that doesn’t help, he takes another. Then another. 

He takes them all.

He hasn’t eaten anything since practice the day before, and with the full contents of the bottle resting heavily in the pit of his stomach, his head has finally gone quiet. The pain feels far off and distant, a dull echo in his extremities while his body goes light and airy, like a petal in a bottle of champagne. He doesn’t sleep yet, although he’d like to. On the edge of a half-dream, he remembers the ice, remembers sinking to the bottom of the lake, and how the hole he’d fallen through was bright and distant as the full moon where it hung fixedly over his head. 

_ But I survived _ … He thinks blearily, hands clenching into loose fists at his sides.  _ There was something that followed that…There must have been… _

Behind closed eyes, he watches the scene play out with its stark finality. He remembers how it felt, how the water tasted in his throat as he suffocated, and then...And then… 

[ _ Yuratchka! _ ]

His eyes snap open, and he fights to sit up against a sharp wave of nausea. 

He remembers. How could he have ever forgotten? 

Something gripped tightly to his sleeve, dragging him back up to land. In the open air, he convulsed, his senses blurred and useless as he was hastily maneuvered into someone’s lap. Everything was freezing and bright and  _ painful _ , but there were arms surrounding him, protecting him, and a hand patting hard against his back, forcing him to spit up the water weighing down his tiny lungs. He gulped in selfish breaths of air as his own sodden clothes were stripped off, a much larger, warmer coat wrapped tightly around his shivering form. As he was lifted into the air, his vision cleared enough for him to stare up at his dedushka’s face⏤how it twisted with worry against the shimmering sky as he was rushed home.

He remembers the warmth most of all. A hot bath and cocoa, then a blanket wrapped tightly around his little body as he snuggled into his grandfather’s protective embrace. The older man had cooed little worried comforts against Yuri’s damp hair for hours, until the child had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, feeling safe and loved and  _ happy _ . It didn’t matter that his mother would be the first of many to leave, or that Yuri would eventually crumble into the shell of whatever it was he’d become at age 15. None of it meant a thing, because that was the last time he’d  _ ever _ feel truly at peace. He had always known that much, but it was a truth too hard to swallow, and that was why his mind had omitted it for so long. 

There was no warmth, now. Just the noise of the city like a quiet lullaby as Yuri feels the frigid cold of the concrete beneath him seeping in through the fabric of his clothes.  _ I deserve this _ , he thinks to himself, body thrumming with a noiseless energy as he purposefully curls his lips into a rueful smile.  _ Victor was right about me, I’m sure the others will see that much soon.  _

Training his burning eyes on the heavy midwinter moon, hanging like a baby’s mobile some 200,000 miles over the restless waking world, like the hole in the ice he’d burned into the back of his mind, Yuri Plisetsky closes his eyes, tired of fighting. 

For the first time in a decade, he glimpses something not entirely unlike the tranquility he scraped with his tiny fingertips the night after falling through the ice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ me: just fuck me up
> 
> this really hurt to write. y i k e s


	8. Silently Leaving the Room

When Yuuri enters the apartment that evening, he barely has a moment to glance up from his shoes before finding himself face-to-face with Victor, who is stationed right behind the door. As he grips Yuuri’s shoulders, the momentary look of sharp relief in his eyes shatters almost instantly, fingers going slack and jaw tightened. There is no ‘welcome home’, or any other pleasantries, just a watery frown and deeply furrowed brow, and that alone is enough to alight a rush of worry in Yuuri’s chest. After all, there weren’t many things he could name that had  _ ever  _ made Victor look so utterly crushed. 

Well, maybe just  _ one _ thing, but⏤

Yuuri freezes, eyes automatically flitting to the dark, empty guest room behind Victor’s shoulder. It hits him all at once, stomach bottoming out as he begins to piece together what he hopes are all incorrect context clues. 

He doesn’t want to ask. He  _ doesn’t _ . 

Victor’s eyes say most of what he’s too terrified to orate, anyway. 

His voice is low and horrified when he finds it, barely managing to croak out a quiet  _ Vitya...where is Yurio? _ Before the other’s tears start to fall, body practically collapsing in on itself. Yuuri watches helplessly as his partner, his love, his  _ idol _ falls to his knees with a distressed sob⏤Atlas, crushed beneath the weight of the world. 

He’s at Victor’s side in an instant, running a hand across the broad plane of his back as he whispers reassurances in his ear. The older man trembles and sobs, body practically convulsing from the force of trying to hold back his distress. It’s nearly a half an hour before Victor finally regains himself enough to form words, broken apologies spilling from his lips as he grips onto Yuuri like a lifeline. 

“It’s my fault⏤I⏤I didn’t listen to you. I hurt him,  _ god _ ⏤I said such awful things, but I was so  _ angry _ . I know...it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t mean it, I’m so  _ sorry _ .” He stutters, pressing a damp cheek against Yuuri’s chest as the brunet threads his fingers through his hair comfortingly.

“I know, I know that you wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, okay?” Yuuri promises, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Victor’s hair, despite the helpless panic he feels as the implication of Victor’s words sinks in. “But, I need you to calm down and try to breathe. I’m not the one you should be saying these things to right now, so I need you to tell me what happened so we can  _ fix _ this.” 

Victor nods, drawing a deep breath into his lungs as he scrubs the last of the tears from his face. “You’re right, I know. I just⏤I feel so  _ stupid _ .” He confesses. “You were right, he caught me searching his room.” 

“Oh, god…” Yuuri breathes, mind already working through what must have happened as he glances towards the empty guest room. “So he ran off?” 

“He tried to, I followed him with the car.” Victor explains, a hollow, bitter laugh forcing its way from his chest. “I forced him to get in, and then I practically berated him for 15 minutes. We were screaming at each other, just saying horrible things without even thinking. He said a few things that I assumed were in the heat of the moment, but I should have taken them more seriously. I snapped, he told me not to go after him, and then he was gone. I’ve been waiting for him since.” He recounts, running a hand through his fringe roughly. “I didn’t really process much of it until I was back at the apartment. I’ve been calling and texting him nonstop, but he hasn’t responded once.” 

Yuuri nods sympathetically, trying to ignore the barrage of worst-case scenarios flitting through his mind as he considers their options. “Well... let’s try not to panic, okay? I’m sure that he’s just hiding out somewhere to lick his wounds for a bit. Have you called around?” 

Hesitantly, Victor shakes his head. “I was hoping he’d come back on his own after cooling down a bit, but it’s already been hours…” 

“Hey, it’s going to be alright.” Yuuri frowns, squeezing Victor’s shoulder as he moves to stand. “We promised to take care of him, and that’s what we’re going to do. For now, the first step is just finding him⏤we’ll figure the rest out from there.” 

“Okay,” Victor breathes, gripping his hair tightly in clenched fists. “Okay.” 

Forcing a reassuring smile, Yuuri heads back to his bag in search of his phone, trying to shake away the residual disappointment he feels.  _ Victor is suffering, too _ . He reminds himself, going through his address book for the few people he could imagine Yurio running to;  _ He was impetuous and he was wrong, but he knows that better than anyone. Right now, we just need to find Yurio and we need to bring him home.  _

Dialing Yakov’s number, Yuuri is mentally preparing a list of what to say before a thought occurs to him that has him stopping in his tracks, worry creeping into his mind as he holds the connecting phone to his chest.

“Victor?” He calls after a moment, back turned the door where Victor can’t see his expression. “You...you didn’t find anything when you were searching, did you?” 

Victor says nothing, but in his silence is everything Yuuri needed to know, anyways. 

* * *

They call everyone they can think of. Yakov, Lilia, Nikolai, Mila, hell, even  _ Georgi _ . No one has gotten so much as a text from the blond since his fight with Victor earlier⏤total radio silence on all of his social media accounts, too. After a pointless call to the police in which they’re told to 'wait it out and call back when it’s been 24 hours', they decide to take matters into their own hands.

Out of the seven of them, three groups are formed to comb local areas for any sign of Yurio: Victor and Yuuri; Nikolai, Yakov and Lilia; then Mila and Georgi.  _ It’s probably overkill _ , Yuuri informs them, though he isn’t entirely sure of the words, himself,  _ We’re just worried about him being on his own in the dark _ . He assures, not even able to bring himself to feel ashamed when he sees the disbelief written clear as day across their faces. 

After all, he doesn’t even believe himself, either. 

In the dragging hours Victor and Yuuri are alone in the city, they exchange next to no words with one another. With every passing minute, the gravity of the situation seems to set in even more⏤made worse by the knowledge that Victor had found proof of the teen’s recent self-harm. Yuuri can see the guilt tearing his partner asunder, but the words to soothe him don’t come. He can’t think of anything to make any of this seem even marginally less terrifying, and, even if he could, he knows the other wouldn’t believe him. Instead, he settles on  _ We’re going to find him _ , but Victor isn’t a fool, and, unfortunately, neither is he. There are more a thousand ways to find someone, and all far worse than  _ alive and well _ . 

In the end, it’s a stranger who discovers him first, and it’s sheer, dumb luck that keeps Yurio alive to see another day. Curled up by the riverside and half-hidden under the shadows of the bridge, if it hadn’t been for the woman’s dog insistently pulling her towards the area, she never would have noticed the pale hand sticking out like a corpse’s⏤illuminated by the moonlight where it lay cold as a marble statue against the concrete. He’s still loosely gripping an empty bottle of aspirin when the paramedics pull his freezing body onto a stretcher, eyes closed and angelic face relaxed, quiet as a stoic. 

Nikolai gets the call at a quarter to midnight, and, even then, it’s only because Yuri is so well-known in St.Petersburg. They hadn’t even checked for his I.D.; his record was still fresh in the system. 

Yakov relays the news to Victor and Yuuri while the two are still hard at work searching, and the tone of his voice alone is enough to instantly confirm the skaters’ absolute worst fears. They stand cheek-to-cheek on the freezing sidewalk, phone pressed tightly in one of Yuuri’s gloved hands even after the end-call signal has played. He never said it aloud; he didn’t have to. There is no luxury of pretending that things are okay anymore, just the quiet understanding shared between open air as the two try to remember how to breathe again. 

When they finally collect their faculties enough to hail a cab, Victor curls in on himself with his head between his knees, trying to ration his breath out  and praying that it will be enough to rouse himself from the waking nightmare of his world, turned inside out. Beside him, Yuuri doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the road pulling forward in front of them; simultaneously urging time to both move faster and to stop altogether, so he’d at least have a moment to catch his breath and process what had happened past the numbness spreading like a viscous poison through his bloodstream. 

They only make it halfway before Victor forces the driver to pull over. He stumbles out the door before Yuuri can question him, only to collapse a few feet away and vomit the meager contents of his stomach into the snow. Yuuri scrambles after him, running a hand across Victor’s back as the other shakes and retches, cursing under his breath in between mouthfuls of bitter stomach acid and saliva.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…” The brunette mumbles under his breath, brushing the hair from Victor’s clammy forehead. “Get it all out, okay? You’re going to be fine…” 

“I’m sorry... _ god _ , I’m so  _ sorry _ .” He chokes, feeling the tears start rolling down his cheeks. “It’s my fault...my fault that...he…” 

Yuuri flinches, wrapping his arms around Victor’s trembling form. “Don’t say that...Please, don’t say that…” He whispers, chest constricting. “Even if you hurt him, it was an accident.  _ No one  _ wanted this to happen, but it did. We can’t take that back. We just have to be there for him and try to just...do better this time. For Yurio.” 

“But what if we  _ can’t _ ?” Victor hisses, clenching his eyes shut. “Before and especially  _ now _ , wasn’t Yuri much better off before we got involved with him? What if he…” He pauses, shuddering at the thought that comes to him. “What if he  _ dies _ , Yuuri?  _ What if he dies tonight because of what I said to him _ ?” 

“Stop it, Victor!” Yuuri cries, gently tilting his jaw until they’re making eye-contact. “Look at me. Yuri is  _ not  _ going to die, okay? You weren’t right to berate him, but you didn’t  _ mean _ it, so all there is left to do is apologize and do everything we can to make this up to him. He needs us now more than ever, so we can’t give up yet.” He insists, surprised at how confident he sounds⏤how confident he  _ feels _ . For so long, Yuuri has been the one who needed to be calmed and comforted, but, for Victor, doing the same for him just feels  _ right _ . It’s the most scared he’s ever been in his life, but it doesn’t matter in that moment. There are people who need him, and he’s going to be there for them. 

The silence wears on as Victor searches his eyes for any trace of insincerity, but he finds none. Numbly, he nods. Stands. Allows himself to be pulled back into the cab. His heart feels frosted over, like someone just pressed ‘pause’ on his emotions as they finally arrive at the hospital. It doesn’t hit him again until he sees the others, gathered in the furthest corner. It’s the first time he’s seen Mila cry, he thinks vaguely, her ruddy, tear-stained face buried in her hands as Georgi tensely holds her shoulder, eyes fixed on the tile. Yakov and Lilia are side-by-side, looking just as frigid as they often do in the kiss-and-cry⏤faces painted with that unreadable emotion that he’s begun to understand is bracing for impact. Nikolai is beside them, crumpled with his head resting against steepled fingers, whispering quiet prayers against his knees as he rocks slightly back and forth. At the sight of him, especially, Victor feels the sharp pang of guilt hit him full-force. He wants to apologize, but the words don’t come. How can he  _ ever _ apologize for possibly taking away his precious grandson⏤the only family the older man had left in the world? 

Yuuri sets a hand on his shoulder, a subtle shake of the head drawing him back from the unending cycle of helpless self-loathing as they move further into the room. 

Yakov stands to meet them, eyes dark with a deceptively calculated calm like the sky before a tempest. He glances back at the others briefly before pressing his hands to the couple’s shoulders, ushering them further away. “We shouldn’t talk here. Let’s go to the hall.” 

The two allow themselves to be led away from the group, Yuuri trying to school his facial expression into something less overtly terrified, and Victor still swallowing back the desperate barrage of apologies threatening to burst forth. 

“I’ve spoken with the paramedics, and they assured us that it was conclusive. It was...exactly what we thought it was.” He starts, straight and to-the-point as always, though Victor can easily identify the subtle cringe of discomfort in his ex-coach’s face. “But now, we want to know  _ why _ . It seemed he was making progress, but I wanted to ask you first, as he’s been spending the majority of his free time with you two.” 

Yuuri stutters, hands shaking at his sides as he stumbles for the right words. “That...it’s hard to pin it down.” He confesses, breaking eye-contact. “He’s been shouldering so much on his own for so long. I think he just needed one catalyst to topple the emotional house of cards he’s been protecting all this time.” 

“Catalyst?” Yakov repeats, glancing between the two questioningly. “And just what might this ‘catalyst’ have been?” 

“It was me.” Victor responds immediately, eyes cast downward to avoid meeting Yuuri’s worried glance in his peripheral. “I went through his things and found out that he was still cutting himself. He caught me and we had this...just  _ petty _ , unnecessary fight. I was angry and confused and I ended up saying some hurtful things to him. It’s  _ my _ fault.” 

The tense silence that follows Victor’s admission is nauseating. Yakov stares his ex-pupil down as if looking through him, and although Yuuri wants nothing more than to step in and defend his partner’s innocence, the words catch in his throat. 

“Victor, I’m disappointed in you. You’re an adult and it’s high-time you start acting like it.” Yakov sighs, face drawn and eyes cold. 

Victor swallows audibly, eyes burning. When he was still a child studying under Yakov, he thought that being scolded by the man was the worst punishment imaginable. The feeling almost seems to hit even harder as an adult, and he feels his stomach drop. “I know, I’m so sorry.” 

Yakov’s face is still hard set, but his eyes soften a bit at that⏤almost too brief to catch. “What you did was foolish and immature, and I do think that you are responsible for the fact that we’re standing in this hospital again,” He pauses, mouth set in a firm line as Victor flinches under the weight of his brutal honesty. “but I will say this: if things had truly been getting better, one fight wouldn’t have been enough to push Yuri to the brink. Even if the superficial wounds have healed, the crux of the problem hasn’t changed. Yuri has just gotten better at going around the rules so we’d stop cornering him.” He sighs, running a hand across his face roughly as he fixes his eyes on the tile. “I hate to say it, but maybe it’s for the best that this happened. This bitter dose of reality is a much needed wakeup call that we need to change our strategy if we really plan on helping him.”

“Yakov…” Victor breathes. “I⏤”

“Yes, yes, don’t go getting emotional on me now, Vitya.” He scowls, and Yuuri briefly wonders if it’s a habit he picked up from Yurio, or the other way around. “Save it. I have a feeling that once Yuri wakes up, he might be in more of a mood to speak candidly with us.” 

Yuuri steps forward a bit, anxious. “So he’s definitely going to…?” 

With a grunt and a wave of the hand, Yakov turns back towards the waiting room, tone carrying soft but still strong with resolution. “Of course; that stubborn cat still has a few lives left. No way the self-proclaimed ‘Ice Tiger of Russia’ would ever lay down and die the quiet death of a field mouse.” He responds, almost fondly, before finally leaving the two. 

As the older man returns to the others, footsteps receding into the distance, Victor finally feels himself relax⏤the tight coil of anxiety at his core unfurling just a bit. Even if he knew, deep down, that the promise of Yuri’s recovery was wishful thinking on Yakov’s part, hearing the reassurance in that familiar tone set him at ease the way it had in his fledgling skating days under the other’s tutelage. It allows him the presence of mind to feel more equipped to address the uncertain topic of how he and Yuuri should proceed. Even if they’d been suspecting as much, the idea that all of their effort up until this point had been for naught is too disheartening to put into words. Up until the fight, they’d just been proceeding on the idea that it was their negligence that had allowed things to get this far. But, now, it was clear that there was much more to it then something they had or had not done. To think that they’d most likely been harming Yurio instead of helping him...well…

Victor winces. No, nothing good will come out of getting discouraged. Yurio needs them to be there, so all that’s left is to look forward and work on making things right again. 

Mustering up as much of a smile as he can when his gaze meets soft brown eyes, he tentatively reaches for Yuuri’s hand, gripping it tightly in his own. There are unspoken words, there⏤a promise to get up from this fall no matter how scared they were, just as they always have. Victor was once again struck with how infinitely grateful he was for having found his unwavering pillar of support in the man beside him. Without Yuuri, he would never have found the strength alone in his flighty heart to continue after the first failed attempt at helping Yurio, let alone to come back from the mistake he’d made, today. With the other by his side, he couldn’t help thinking that they’d get it right, eventually. 

They had to: for Yuri and for themselves, who loved him. 

“I love you.” He says, quiet as smoke against the stagnant air of the hospital. 

Soft fingers curl against his own, reassuringly. 

“And I love you.”

Hand in hand, they walk back towards the waiting room⏤to the fear and the unrest, but feel slightly stronger, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skate Dads™ Trying to rise to the occasion.
> 
> (Be warned--this is a slight reprieve. More angst to come)


	9. a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being gone. a lot has happened. i'll talk more about it in the end notes if you're interested, but thanks for all the messages, sorry i couldn't put this up until now. 
> 
> it's basically just another in-between chapter as i try to set up the context. i'm wary about skipping scenes like this, even if they're a little boring. mostly, i wanted to establish how Yuuri's insecurity would play into this, as i've been focusing in on Victor and how Yuuri would act around him in order to support him, leaving Yuuri's concern a bit ambiguous. I feel like just going straight from X to X to X feels too harsh and unrealistic, but idk. 
> 
> the next chapter is going to be in Yurio's POV so look forward to ittttt

The hours spent waiting helplessly for word on Yuri’s condition crawl by at a mercilessly slow pace, as they always seem to do when you risk losing something you can’t imagine having to live without. There is no comfort to ease the agonizing uncertainty, just a narrowly disguised liminal space with neither beginning nor end. Each breath and unspoken word falls heavily like a desperate plea to that last fleeting sense of hope they cling to, wanting more than anything to believe that things will be okay, yet faced with the terrifying reality that it’s never been a guarantee.

There, in the harsh juxtaposition of stark disbelief and sickening fear warring silently in the dragging silence of the waiting room, Victor struggles to put together what he knows. In the weeks since they’d stumbled into this waking nightmare, he’d resigned himself to never having all of the pieces he would need to map out, point A to point B, how things had gotten this _bad_. Was there a tipping point, somewhere along the line? Something deep under Yuri’s skin that had rooted itself in the sinew and festered away, leading him to this point?

The more he thought back, tried to pin down what he knew and the conclusions he had drawn, the more the categories blurred until only an indeterminate, muddled mess remained. The perceived ‘Yuri’ of his mind’s eye had been long-since shattered, the pieces ground into dust underfoot, and it was only through looking back where he had come and seeing nothing that he began to realize just how _little_ he actually knew about the teen. For years, he’d taken what he wanted to see at face-value and arranged his findings into something that looked like Yuri, sounded like Yuri, _felt_ like Yuri⏤but, now, confronted with the reality of what had been carefully hidden behind that harsh, brash exterior, he found himself without solid ground to place his feet. Was it Yuri’s posturing, or his own ignorance and self-involvement that had led him down this road with no end? The more he worked it over in his mind, the more unclear it became. He was putting together a puzzle with no correlating color or shape; mapping out constellations from memory in a starless, daytime sky. There was nowhere to start, and an uncertain, hazy end, that only seemed to go further and further with each passing moment.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he’d been such a fucking _fool_.

He dwells on that point for hours, dead-end thoughts sinking through his mind like water through a colander, nothing really sticking. Eventually, the first rays of the morning sun shine in beyond the thick glass of the windows, unbidden, as they wait on any word of Yuri’s condition; and, despite heated protests from the two older skaters, Yakov gruffly sends Mila and Georgi back to their homes. Practice was cancelled for the day, but, as their coach, he would be damned if he let all _three_ of his senior students run themselves into the fucking ground at once.

It’s still early into the morning when a tan, thin-lipped doctor finally enters the waiting room, her ash-grey hair falling loose from its plait to curl around her face like wandering tendrils of smoke. She forces a professionally sympathetic smile, devoid of energy, as she takes in their red-eyes and stricken expressions, tucking her clipboard under her arm as Victor practically bolts to her.

“Is it⏤do you have news on Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky?” He questions frantically, voice rough and airy from exhaustion. The desperation absolutely saturates his words, and he feels Yuuri’s warm hand slip into his as the others join them at their sides.

The doctor nods, glancing between the adults in turn, uncertain of who to address. “The two most pressing issues were his mild hypothermia and aspirin poisoning due to overdose. We pumped his stomach and his condition has stabilized for the most part, although he will be getting a psychiatric evaluation sometime within the next few days. Nonetheless, I’d expect him to make a full physical recovery within the next week or so.”

“Oh, thank _god_!” Nikolai breathes through his fingers, falling to his knees on the dingy tile floor, head cradled in his hands. Yakov kneels beside him, a comforting hand on his back as the older man trembles.

Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand tightly in his own, eyes shining with thankful tears. “Will we be able to see him soon?” He asks quietly, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, wanting nothing more to run directly to the blond’s side and never let him go again now that they had confirmation of his safety.

The doctor gives him an apologetic frown, taking a quick look at her watch before seeming to come to a decision. “Visiting hours don’t _technically_ start until eight, but we’ll make an exception in this case.” She reassures, scribbling something down quickly on one of Yuri’s papers. “His room number is 26A, down the west corridor. He’s still asleep now, but you’re free to visit him in groups of two at a time, so as to not overwhelm him so soon after his... _ordeal_.”

“Yes...thank you so much…” Victor murmurs, bowing out of habit alongside Yuuri as the doctor turns to leave.

Yakov helps Nikolai back to his unsteady feet, and the four adults left waiting simply look between one another, an unvoiced conversation.

Fed up, Yakov grumbles, too exhausted for the selfish melodrama. “Obviously, his grandfather should be the first of us to go.” He snaps, giving Victor a scathing look as his ex-student opens his mouth to argue. “Don’t you dare start with me after the night we just had, Vitya. You and Yuuri will go _afterwards_. Lilia and I will go last.”

“...You’re right.” Victor acknowledges hesitantly after a beat of silence, looking like a chastised child as he steps back to allow Nikolai to pass. He knew, deep down, that he couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine the weight of what Nikolai must have been feeling, watching his own flesh and blood go through something so traumatizing and being helpless to have stopped it. But even that admittance didn’t do much to quell the selfish voice in the back of his head that argued that Yuri was _family_ to him, too.  

As they take their seats again, Victor can’t help but agonize over what he’ll say when he finally sees Yuri again. No apology could ever make up for what he’d said⏤what he’d _done_ , so thoughtlessly. Everything he’d put onto Yuri had been a selfish outpouring of his own frustration and misplaced anger; none of it had been close to how he truly felt at all! But, regardless of his intentions, it was all too clear from the other’s reaction that Yuri had taken every word to heart. The first thing he’d need to do is assure Yuri that he hadn’t meant it, but how could he possibly begin to make amends, knowing the damage his words had caused?

It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of his own immaturity⏤after all, Yakov must have lectured him about it a thousand times since his youth. For so long, his knee-jerk response to contention had just been to run. Running from his responsibility, running from the expectations of others. He was always on the run, because flight was the only thing he’d ever known. After all, he’d never truly risked something so important to him. He’d never before been faced with a mistake too severe to repair, nor a distance too wide to bridge.

But he couldn’t take that risk with Yuri; he’d been doing it to him time and time again without even realizing it. One wrong move, and he could lose him forever⏤fuck, he almost _had_ ! If he cowered from his responsibility this time, he knew that there would be no coming back from it. So, instead, he straightened his back and waited. The damage was done, and as much as he wished he could take it back or run, he _couldn’t_. All that was left was to fight for whatever semblance of a chance he had at being able to ease some of the pain. Redeeming himself and his ego would just have to take a backseat, because even if Yuri somehow forgave him for the awful things he’d said, Victor wasn’t sure he could ever do the same for himself.

When Nikolai finally drags himself from Yuri’s room, the deep devastation etched into his face only seems to have gotten worse. Victor and Yuuri share a horrified look at the lifelessness in the older man’s eyes, as if he’d just been handed the weight of the world to carry. Wordlessly, Yakov and Lilia rush to him, steering him back towards the benches where he all but collapses into a boneless heap, head in his hands.

“What happened? Did he say something?” Lilia asks tensely, hand resting on Nikolai’s slumped shoulder.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, he presses his fingers to his temples, expression tight and pained as he struggles for words. “I can’t believe that it progressed this far before I realized something wasn’t right. When I first heard, I thought maybe he’d just gotten good at lying, but now I see that I’ve just been bad at listening.” He half-whispers, fixing his eyes on his lap forlornly. “Even now, he can’t bring himself to be selfish and rely on me. How could I have failed that boy this much…?”

“It isn’t you.” Yuuri cuts in without hesitation, eyes soft. “He doesn’t rely on you because he doesn’t want to _worry_ you. It’s obvious from the way he speaks of you that you mean everything in the world to him, and he’d be hurt if he knew you were blaming yourself over this.”

Nikolai shakes his head, fingers massaging his tired, sore eyes. “Thank you for saying so, but if that’s the case, then I can’t see any way that my being here right now is going to make this better for him.” He murmurs, breath rattling in his chest like the scrape of metal against metal.

“Nikolai, you could probably use some rest⏤we _all_ could.” Yakov clears his throat roughly, drawing his coat around his shoulders. “We can try speaking with Yuri after he’s had the chance to think things through a bit. But in the meantime,” He stops, turning to address Victor. “I trust that you’ll watch over Yuri well. I know that you have a lot to talk about, but, for the love of god, _don’t_ _interrogate_ _him_ , Vitya.”

Victor nods sharply, internally flinching at the admonishment. “We’ll take care of him. I promise we will.”

Yakov grunts noncommittally, but his eyes soften the slightest amount before he turns away. “See to it then.” He instructs, turning to lead the other two out of the hospital.

Victor stares after him for a long moment after the group has gone, contemplating. He can practically feel the growing concern in Yuuri’s eyes from where they are fixed on his back, but he can’t bring himself to turn around and address the other⏤fearful that he’ll likely spill every impulse he’s been feeling since they’d been allowed visitation to the blond. As Yakov had stressed, questioning Yuri right now would only further alienate him from everyone else. But, still, what else could he do but want answers? He’d been killing himself over the question of _why_ , agonizing over every possible, horrible scenario, and he didn’t feel confident enough not to fall back into the selfish habit of pressing for answers from someone who was already in so much pain. Yuuri’s presence did help to ground him a bit, but it was all-too-obvious that the brunet was just as desperate for answers as him, and that could prove to be a disastrous combination.

But, even still, he _needed_ to see Yuri. Needed to have a mental image of him besides the imagined one of his cold, prone body lying unconscious beside the river, completely and utterly alone. If it was for his sake, Victor could learn to bite his tongue, just as long as he could sit beside him quietly and know for sure that he was _alive_ and _safe_ and⏤

“Victor,” Yuuri calls softly from behind him, a gentle hand laid in the crook of his arm. When Victor finally turns to face him, he can see the same worry, the same bone-crushing exhaustion, but Yuuri carries it so well, quietly tucked away in the cracks of his composure and his breathy voice. The world has stuttered, but it hasn’t ended. It’s a choice to keep swimming, or drown, and it really isn’t a hard decision.

Forcing a half-smile⏤more reassurance than anything⏤they walk in silence down the path to Yuri’s room. It’s further this time, closer to the E.R., and Victor can sense something unsaid under the patient glaze of his love’s eyes. As much as he would have loved to write it off as the same worry he feels, he can’t help but feel the concern rising in his chest.

When they finally, finally reach the room, he gets his answer.

“Wait⏤Before we go in, there’s something that’s been bothering me.” Yuuri blurts out hurriedly, as if he’d only just thought of it. He moves to stand between Victor and the closed door, hands fisted tightly in the fabric of his coat as he struggles for words. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, but I can’t ignore it anymore. Just...when he followed you to Hasetsu...That’s when _this_ all started, isn’t it?”

Taken aback a bit, Victor nods, brows furrowing. “Around that time, but we don’t know for sure…”

“Yes, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?” The brunet presses, eyes desperate, searching for answers he clearly doesn’t want. “Doesn’t it make sense for him to have started hurting himself then?”

Victor meets that penetrating gaze, but, helpless, finds no answer to offer but his own confusion. “Yuuri...what are you getting at?”

Yuuri swallows audibly, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, it’s just that...you don’t think that _maybe_ things would have been different if we hadn’t forced him to be involved with us? When we’re around him, he only gets _worse_ , Victor. I know I keep _saying_ that he needs us, but what if I’m wrong? What if _we’re_ the ones driving him into a corner?”

“Yuuri...that’s not...” The older man starts, trailing off with an unsteady breath. It’s everything that he has worried over since the news of Yuri’s attempt came to light, every insecurity he’s had, laid bare. Yuuri has been nothing but a pillar of support and constant reassurance for him, standing by and helping him to figure things out, even as he made mistake after mistake when it came to Yuri. But, having been so caught up in his own insecurity, he’d been neglecting to see just how it was affecting his partner, too.

He’d grown selfish with Yuuri’s comfort, and now, he was going to be there to support him, too.

Reaching out, he cradled the other’s face in his palm, drawing Yuuri’s attention to him. “Yuuri, listen to me,” He whispered, voice quiet yet carrying a confidence, a quiet conviction he hadn’t felt since before it all started, when he was sure they were doing the right thing. “We can’t change the past, so how this started isn’t relevant right now. Don’t get me wrong, this is... _terrifying_ , but we need to look forward from here. To ensure Yuri’s safety in the present and his happiness in the future, all we can do is be there for him⏤to show him how important he is to us, _all of us_ . We can’t give up because we’re scared. I’ve left him behind before, but I can’t do it to him again. Not now. And, believe me, you’ve been nothing but a blessing for him, even if he’d never admit it. Maybe we can’t heal him, but if we can help, even just a bit, then I want to _try_.” He implores, holding the other’s teary gaze in his. He’d never felt so powerless before, so utterly lost and confused. But, despite it all, he felt the need to stay with an unshakable certainty. He’d been running his whole life, but, now, he had a reason not to leave. He’d found his agape in the love of his life and the love and concern for the lonely boy behind the door, and nothing, no force felt strong enough to move him from the painful need to hold on to them⏤to make things right again.

Yuuri meets his gaze solemnly, searching for any hint of deception in the stark sincerity laid out before him, and finds none. After a moment, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, covering Victor’s hand with his own. “Okay.” He replies quietly, stepping out of the way. Reaching for the doorknob, he catches Victor’s eye one last time and nods, wordlessly turning the handle.

They were _family_ , and they going to fight this until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so basically. my birth mother wanted to get back at me for not contacting her, so she threatened to kill herself b/c of me literally the night before my art exam (which would determine whether i get to continue at the school i go to) and then she shut her phone off, so i couldn't contact her. Anyways, i was so stressed that i had a panic attack during the exam and was failed as a result of not finishing, so, despite my portfolio getting high marks, i got rejected and have to go back to the states. to top it all off, an upperclassman who stalked, stabbed, and sexually assaulted me for like 6 months when i was 14 just moved back to my hometown, so i had to find a new place to live so i wouldn't have to see him. that, on top of all my second semester work and my crippling mental illness has led me down the deepest pit of my life lol but!! i'll figure it out! or smth!! anyways. thanks for reading as always hhhhh


	10. Don't leave me hanging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, this is a long one lol. Also!! Angst!! Im going to write at least one more chapter, but I'm still working it out.

When she left, Yuri didn’t cry⏤not at first. As she crossed through the front door under the dark cover of early morning, snow crunching softly under the tires of the taxi she’d called, he recognized, somehow, that she wasn’t coming back. If he’d run, he could have caught her out front. He could have woken his grandfather and told him what was happening. But, he didn’t. With the blanket pulled tightly around his body, he tiptoed in socked feet across the floor to catch a glimpse of the fading tail lights from his bedroom window as she vanished out of his life, and felt  _ nothing _ . 

When he woke up for the second time that morning, it was not to the muffled click of a door pulled shut for the last time, but to warm, shaking hands brushing the hair from his face. His grandfather sat beside his bed and wept, explaining, as gently as he could, that Yuri’s mother had gone away, and that it would be the two of them from then on. It was such a vivid memory still, the way he held Yuri in his arms and whispered quiet reassurances that everything would be okay⏤that it wasn’t  _ his _ fault that his mother had decided to leave. It was only  _ then _ that Yuri cried: not for his mother who left, but for  _ his grandfather _ , the one who cared enough to  _ stay _ . The sound echoed in his head for days afterwards, and it was only then that he realized that losing something important to you is never quiet, even if it goes unheard by others. 

Sometimes, he hears the closing of heavy doors, and  _ remembers _ .

But, mostly, he does his best to ignore it.

Skirting the line between consciousness and a drug-induced stupor, Yuri dreams. He stands at the doorstep of his grandfather’s house in Moscow, staring into the lamp-lit windows on the second floor, and watches the worst morning of his life play out in high-definition quality. After seeing how affected his grandfather had been by his mother’s abandonment, he could never tell him the truth of what he’d seen and heard that morning. Could never bring himself to say that he had watched her go and did nothing to stop the inevitable cycle of doors opening and closing, of people leaving silently and never coming back again. After all, it was only a matter of time. Every relationship comes with an expiration date. A clock, slowly counting down until the day you’d inevitably lose them for good. 

It was easier not to get attached. You were the only consistency in your own life, after all. 

That infamous morning had lived on at the precipice of man of Yuri’s feverdreams over the years. He’d had more than his fair share of difficult mornings since then, but none could hold a candle to the stark loss of innocence he’d seen in himself, reflected in his grandfather’s cold tears. He sees it often; he’s memorized the scene down to the disjointed, half-second ticking of the broken clock on the bedroom wall, but the first thing to come back is  _ always _ the hands in his hair. It was the calm before the storm. The last warm sense of security before he started down this endless, plummeting road of having to sharpen himself for a world that couldn’t give less of a shit about  _ another  _ unhappy kid. He knows better, now. The fall is inevitable, and as much as he would have liked to take those precious few seconds of groggy comfort and stretch them into a place safe enough to rest, the best he can do is hold on to that secure feeling and try to make it last as long as he can. 

So, when he feels the ghosting warmth of his grandfather’s hands carding through his hair for the umpteenth time, Yuri closes his eyes and tries to savor the memory as best he can. Tries desperately to make it last before he’ll be pulled back into his own personal Ninth Circle, to die a thousand deaths beneath the ice.

Eyes closed, he waits on an inevitability, for the shattering of a childish illusion. 

But...nothing happens. He waits longer than is strictly necessary, just to be sure. He waits for the other shoe to drop, but, when it doesn’t, he finds that it’s somehow infinitely  _ more _ terrifying than he ever could have imagined. 

It takes every ounce of the little strength he has left to crack his eyes open. He knows that the moment he does, the dream will dissipate into nothing once more, but still finds himself warring with the discomfort of breaking down that last sense of safety with his own two hands. With blurred vision, he waits for the last traces of sleep to fade, expecting to see the familiar, shabby cornflower walls of his childhood home. But the haze doesn’t go away. His vision is blinded by stark white, and, had the memory of his last stay not been so fresh in his mind, he might not have been so quick to identify the hospital for what it was. 

It’s like an uncanny coalescence of daydream and reality as his pupils drift to his grandfather’s tear-soaked face. Numbly, he finds his hand reaching for the one in his hair, almost expecting to be met with open air as the hallucination dropped away in full. 

Instead, his fingers skim warm flesh, and he recoils as much as he can with the I.V. still stuck in his arm, eyes going wide as he meets his grandfather’s surprised gaze. The silence settling between them is tense and heavy, not for lack of words, but a mutual inability to voice the myriad of questions that  _ needed _ to be asked. Between the location and his grandfather’s stricken, exhausted look, it doesn’t take much for Yuri to feel the fledgling tendrils of panic building in his chest. Regardless of whether it’s from the shock or the fact that he’s just woken up, he feels the realization that he can’t fucking  _ remember _ what happened hit him full on, and it doesn't help that his grandfather is just... _ there _ , looking at him with that pleading, devastated confusion, as if waiting for answers Yuri was incapable of providing. 

Still lying motionlessly in the staggered light of the venetian blinds, he quickly tries to sort through the fragmented clutter of half-memories swirling around inside of him. The fight with Victor comes back first with unfortunate clarity, but, as a quick glance to the clock confirms, it’s been at least half a day since then. Had he passed out in the street and been taken to the hospital? That in and of itself would be embarrassing, especially if someone had recognized him. But, as much as he wanted that to be the case, the sheer weight of his grandfather’s look was enough to tell him that there was something more going on...something much worse. 

He considers asking, but thinks better of it, mostly because where the fuck could he  _ start _ ? Worse...would anyone...even believe him?  Even if it was the truth, asking might just add more fuel to what seemed to be an uncontrollable tire fire. After all, if he was in the hospital, it was definitely due to another one of his own brilliant fuck-ups…

“‘m sorry…” He rasps. He’s not really sure what he’s apologizing for in the first place, but he figures he might as well get it out of the way sooner than later. Either he’ll be forgiven or he won’t, but at the very least, it’ll put an end to the heavy silence weighing down on him⏤the obvious truth that he must have done  _ something  _ wrong. 

But, instead of relief, his grandfather’s face only falls further into sorrow, a fresh wave of tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes that he tries and fails to hide with the back of his hand. Yuri immediately feels his anxiety spike, an acute sense of dread welling up at the harrowing realization that whatever he’d done, it was something too terrible for a simple apology to mend. He’s about to backtrack, to try and make things better, when his grandfather sets a hand over his own, grasping it tightly. 

“Yuratchka, my sweet boy…The one who should apologize is _me_ ,” He corrects quietly, hand trembling so hard that Yuri feels the vibration all the way to his shoulder. “I almost _lost_ _you_ because I wasn’t there when you needed me. I know that I’m old and you worry about making me upset, but it’s my job to support you.” 

No. No no no no no no no no  _ no _ . Yuri panics, clutching his grandfather’s hand with all the strength his weakened body can summon. “You  _ do _ support me!” He breathes quickly. “None of this is your fault, I’m...I just…” He trails off, reluctant to say any more, lest he cause his grandfather more undue harm. 

His grandfather leans closer, stroking his thumb over the back of Yuri’s hand soothingly. His face is still twisted with worry, but there’s an underlying softness there as he speaks. “Then, please, set my old heart at ease, Yuratchka. Tell me what’s wrong; I’ll  _ listen _ .”

The words are dripping with sincerity, but, unbeknownst to Nikolai, that’s the  _ problem _ . Yuri knows better than anyone that he’ll listen, and that’s why he can’t say anything. If his grandfather had any idea of what was going on, it would  _ kill _ him. He’d been keeping it to himself for so long out of fear of being a burden, that even if he  _ wanted _ to open up and be honest...he had no idea where to start.

So, he lies. 

“I’m just stressed out from training is all.” He mumbles, averting his eyes. “I’m busy and keep losing my appetite. When the season ends, I’ll be okay.” 

It was blatantly untrue, and the silence that follows attests to that more than anything. Even if he hadn’t raised Yuri from infancy, it would have taken major denial or an utter  _ fool _ to believe a word from the blond’s mouth. When Yuri finally dares to sneak a glance back at his grandfather, his heart drops. Nothing on earth⏤not his mother leaving, the day they parted at the Moscow airport, or even his first hospitalization⏤had ever put such a profoundly hurt expression on the older man’s face. There’s shock and heartbreak there, but underneath it all, was hopelessness. Complete and utter despondency, as if any last, lingering thread of optimism had been ripped from his hands. 

“I...I’ll come back later, Yuratchka.” He says, quietly, too quietly. Yuri wants to take it back. To tell him something, anything to make him  _ stay _ , but the words aren’t there. He watches, helpless, praying for the other to meet his eyes, to see his intentions, behind the walls he’s put around himself. But he doesn’t. With one final squeeze to his hand, his grandfather turns and leaves the room, and Yuri chokes on the silence in his wake. 

The door to his room stays open. But, in his heart, he feels it  _ slam _ , and  _ knows _ .

* * *

Yuri lies in a state of near catatonia. A nurse comes and goes in the meantime, but he doesn’t respond to them⏤he  _ can’t _ . His head had cleared a bit after his grandfather left, but he’d almost rather it hadn’t. With his new awareness had come the realization of just how much  _ pain _ he was in. Everything from his head to his stomach was in absolute agony. Besides his pounding headache, it was as if someone had balled his stomach up like a deflated balloon, tore it through his esophagus and then forced it back in  _ upside-down _ . Whatever had happened to land him here, it  _ wasn’t _ fucking good.

Whether it was a stroke of luck of some cosmic fucking joke, he manages to catch a glimpse of the nurses’ clipboard as she’s replacing his saline drip, and he feels his empty stomach heave at what he reads. 

_ Suicide Attempt by Overdose _

It’s a harsh dose of reality to deal with. He was almost tempted not to believe it, until a hazy somewhat-memory of lying under an overpass makes itself known, and he feels his throat burn at the realization of what he’d done⏤the mistake he’d  _ almost _ made.

He wasn’t oblivious to his mental condition. Every time he skipped a meal or brought the blade to his skin, he  _ knew  _ that he should stop, but it was just so much easier to say  _ next time _ . One last cut. One bite instead of two. 

He’d run out of ‘next times’ without even realizing it himself. And last night could have very well been the last.

While he’s still running that thought over in his head, a pair of familiar voices just outside his room catch his attention. The nurse had shut the door after leaving, but he doesn’t need to see outside to know who it is. His headache intensifies, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, praying that if he just blocked them out and pretended not to know, they’d leave him to curl up and die in this hospital bed, like he wanted. 

But, he had no such luck. 

The door opened slowly, two quiet sets of footsteps approaching his bed. The heart-rate monitor doesn’t offer him the luxury of pretending he’s asleep⏤even if it  _ did _ , he doubts they’d let him, anyways. He hears them take the two seats beside the bed, and can practically feel the tension radiating from them as they plan out what to say to him. 

As  _ if _ he’d give them the satisfaction.

“Fuck off. Get out.” He growls, preemptively putting an end to whatever they’d come for. He knows it won’t be enough to drive them out, but it’s still somewhat satisfying to get the first word in⏤especially when he hears a sharp intake of breath. 

“Yuri…” Victor sighs after a moment, rushed voice practically radiating worry. “We know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. “I’m so sorr⏤!”

Yuri snaps, eyes flying open in a glare as he feels everything from the other day’s fight come roaring back. “I said  _ get out _ !” He screams, scrabbling for the nurse call button, only missing it by a hair’s breadth as Victor pulls it into his own hands, panic written clear across his face. 

“Yuri,  _ please _ , just hear me out!” The older man begs, setting the button down just out of Yuri’s limited reach. 

“Why are you even bothering⏤I know how you really feel about me!” The teen snaps, baring his teeth in unbridled fury. “You’ve already left and you’re going to leave again anyways, so just fucking save this pointless bullshit and _go_ _already_!”

Victor, at the very least, looks taken aback by this. And while Yuri usually relishes in being able to knock that phony expression off his face, he only feels worse and more vulnerable than he already did. 

Biting his lip, Victor backtracks, eyes shining with tears. “Is this about what I said earlier? I promise, I didn’t mean a word of it! I’d never abandon you, Yuri, I’m sorry for making you think that I would.” 

“Bullshit.” The blond bites through grit teeth, jaw tense and aching from how tightly he’d clenched it. “You think you’re the first or _last_ to abandon me, Nikiforov?” He scoffs. “Think again. It’s not like we’re family, or anything⏤not that _that’s_ ever changed the outcome. Expecting someone to stay for you ‘just because’ is a sure-fire way to royally fuck yourself over.” He rambles, a sardonic grin stretching across his face. “But _you_ wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? After all, you _have_ _everything_. Anything you want, you get. The highest score, the fame, the fortune, the _love_. You’re _good_ enough, so how the fuck could you understand?!” 

He’s losing control and he  _ knows _ it, everything from the past few months rising to the surface at once, like bodies from a sinking ship. He wants to stop, to shut himself up, but he’s not in control anymore. All he can do is sit back and watch his anger consume everything in its path. 

Victor’s face twists in confusion, eyes shining with concern. “You have that  _ too _ , Yuri. You’re so talented, loved! You have so much going for you⏤” 

Yuri laughs breathily, scrubbing a hand harshly across his face. “What are you talking about, old man.” He whispers. “I had  _ you _ , and my grandpa. When you made me that promise, made me feel like maybe,  _ maybe _ I was good enough, only to dash it all away the first chance you got for one of my  _ competitors _ , how do you think  _ I _ felt? I felt  _ pathetic _ , Victor. Pathetic, hopeless,  _ worthless _ ⏤” Yuri snarls, grabbing a chunk of his hair in his fist, a few strands fluttering to the floor. 

Yuuri gasps out his name in shock, reaching for the teen’s hand to keep him from causing himself further harm. Victor looks absolutely thunderstruck, eyes swimming with tears and jaw hanging open uselessly⏤nothing like the Russian Ice Prince he’d been praised as for the last decade. 

It takes him a while to find his voice, and, when he does, it’s a pathetic sound, obfuscated by tears and physically  _ hurts  _ as it scrapes its way from his throat. “I⏤I’m so sorry, Yuri. You never...said anything. I just assumed…” Victor bargains, though some part deep inside him was screaming that he had no right to imply that this was Yuri’s fault.

Yuri scoffs quietly, ripping his hand from Yuuri’s and staring down at the scratchy hospital sheets to avoid meeting the others’ hurt gazes. “Yeah, you  _ did _ ‘just assume’. What the fuck was I even supposed to say to you? I  _ lost _ . I wasn’t going to humiliate myself even further by throwing a temper tantrum and demanding that you keep your promise. I have my dignity, Victor.” 

Victor nods fervently, pulling a hand through his long fringe. “I knew I should have followed up with you..I could’ve...I⏤” 

“Don’t you dare start with that pitying bullshit, old man.” Yuri snaps, catching Victor’s gaze with his own piercing glare. “This isn’t about  _ you _ . Yes, I was angry and upset with you for abandoning me and breaking our promise, but do you honestly I’d drive myself to this point just for  _ you _ ?”

Stuttering, Victor slumps in his seat, the weight of his exhaustion finally catching up with him. “If not me, then...what?” He asks, weakly. It’s like quicksand, and the deeper he gets, the less he feels he knows. It’s a terrible reminder that he doesn’t understand a single thing about Yuri, even  _ now _ .

After a moment, the blond sighs, fingers grasping the bedsheets so tightly that his already pale knuckles go absolutely ashen. “Up until a certain point, it was probably about you.” He admits, feeling the other two settle their concerned gazes on him. “But the point is that I  _ lost _ , Victor. Fair and square. I lost and I had no one to blame but myself for not being good enough. And once I started fixating on that...I don’t know, it was a downward spiral.” He explains, letting the words roll from him in tense waves as he remembers. “The practice hours got longer and more intense. Eating made me feel sick and weighed down, so my meals got smaller and less frequent, then somewhere along the line, they pretty much just stopped. I used to only cut on days when things got especially bad and I needed something else to focus on⏤a way to feel in control that wasn’t starving myself⏤but the worse days started coming at a much faster pace, and, before I could stop, it just became another part of the routine.” 

He’s always hated the vulnerability of confessions. In fact, he’d spent the better part of his life building up his walls just so he wouldn’t have to rely on other people like this. But...whether it’s the stress of the situation or just the accumulation of all of his emotions from the last few months, Yuri feels lighter, somehow. When he’s in his right mind and Victor and Katsudon  _ still  _ know his secrets, he knows it’ll be less appealing. But, for the moment, the catharsis is practically unbelievable. 

Surprisingly, it’s Yuuri who breaks the silence first, his voice unwavering but kind as he leans closer to the bed. “You should never have to go through something like that alone. I’m sorry that we didn’t make you feel safe enough to tell us how you were feeling before, but I’m  _ so _ glad that you were willing to share that with us. It must have been so hard…” 

He flushes with embarrassment despite himself. Yuuri reaches for his hand again, and, for once, he pretends not to notice.

“I...I had no idea you felt that way…” Victor mumbles, drawing the others’ attention to him. All this time, he’d never wanted to let himself believe that things were as bad as they were; but hearing it from Yuri’s cracked, pale lips had solidified everything he’d been to afraid to admit to himself. “I’m so sorry, Yuri. I’ll never be able to apologize enough. All this time I was waiting for you to open up as if it was something I deserve and not something I would have to  _ earn _ .” He admits, covering his lips with a shaking hand. “I haven’t been fair to you. I pushed you, I broke your trust, and then foisted all the blame onto you, like you deserved anything but my respect and empathy.” Victor rambles, finally meeting Yuri’s gaze as the tears he’s been barely holding off begin rolling in earnest down his face. “Yuuri and I love you so much. No matter what happens, we want you to know above all that we’re  _ here _ for you. No matter how far you go, we’ll find you, and we’ll bring you back. We won’t leave you by yourself anymore.”

Yuri’s breath stutters in his chest, heart aching with something like hope he dares not have; hope he’s never allowed himself to dream of. It’s everything he’s wanted to hear since the day his mother left him, but he’d long-since relinquished even the slightest chance that someone could ever say those words  to him and  _ mean  _ them.

Maybe it’s the painkillers. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. He doesn’t know, but he...he  _ wants _ to believe Victor. He wants to give in to the naive, blind trust in the other’s words, even if it means potentially making himself vulnerable to getting hurt all over again. 

With shaking fingers, he wraps Victor’s hand in his free one, squeezing Yuuri’s with the other. 

“Okay,” He whispers, his own tears beginning to overflow as he gives himself over to the plain adoration and care in their eyes. “Okay.” 

If they’d been allowed, Yuri knows that Victor and Yuuri would have climbed up and curled around him in the bed, but, instead, they set their chairs on opposite sides of his head. It’s quiet and breathless, but he feels  _ safe _ . He doesn’t have to imagine Yuuri’s voice this time⏤Victor threading his hand through Yuri’s hair as Yuuri whispers everything he’s been aching to say against the shell of his ear, carrying him to sleep.

“Everything is going to be okay.”


	11. Older and Taller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! This chapter is about 3 times as long as usual because I couldn't find any other way to split it up without it being a total nuisance for everyone lol. This is the official end of Permafrost as a main story; i hope you like it!

Despite Yuri’s livid assertions that he was fine, it didn’t take a team of doctors to understand that he’d pushed his already weakened body to its absolute limits, both physically _and_ mentally. The bare minimum amount of time he would have had to stay was three days—though, that was with the unrealistic expectation that Yuri Plisetsky would be _compliant_.

But, seeing as by the end of day three the closest he’d gotten to being discharged was accidentally dislodging his I.V. while cursing out the hospital psychiatrist, they’d resigned for him to be there for at _least_ a week.

Despite that though, they were mostly just relieved to see him acting almost like normal again. For so long, he’d been masking his suffering, using the distance his temper afforded him to keep anyone trying to help at bay. Now that he had no need to put on a an act, it was hard _not_ to count the differences and realize just how much of his behavior had been a part of his clever facade.

And, as much as they tried to ignore it for the sake of focusing on the future, it was even harder not to imagine what might have happened had he not slipped up a month earlier and alerted them to the danger he was in. 

Tentative normalcy or not, there was an underlying sense of urgency to be with Yuri after having been faced with the now undeniable weight of his situation. Because it wasn’t entirely obvious where the projected Yuri and the _true_ Yuri bled into one another, they needed to make up for the lost time, but especially the lost _trust_ while they had the chance. And his being in the hospital was the perfect opportunity to talk to him one-on-one.  

Well...it was for everyone _except_ the one person who Yuri needed to talk to most, that is. 

Despite the promise that he would come back, days passed without word from his grandfather, and Yuri’s anxiety over the situation was quickly reaching breaking point. They’d had disagreements before, just like any close family members. Even so, with Yuri being gone so often, their fights were few and far in-between, and usually came to a peaceful resolution with the two of them eating pirozhki on the couch in front of an older movie—a silent understanding.

But this wasn’t a simple disagreement. The heart of the impasse was his own aversion to vulnerability—an aversion that he had only managed to temporarily overcome when painted into a corner with no way out but through. It went without saying that he and his grandfather _needed_ to have a proper heart-to-heart in order to rebuild the broken trust between them. But, even knowing that, Yuri still felt nauseous at the sheer _thought_ of having to lay bare every last one of his pathetic insecurities in front of the person who mattered most to him. He’d spent so long only showing his good sides, trying to keep his grandfather _away_ from that part of him. Running from his faults was all that he knew, and, fabricated or not, the idealized version of himself he’d pretended to be was the only defense he had left.

It would be fine once he got everything out in the open—he _knew_ that, but as his finger hovered over his grandfather’s contact in his phone for the umpteenth time, his knee-jerk response was _still_ to deny it all, even if that was pointless considering his situation.  

In the end, something was bound to break. Denial was powerful, but time was even more so, and, if there’s anything he’d learned from years of living by the idea that it would always be _when_ instead of _if_ , he knew that there was always a time limit on apologies.

It was long past visiting hours when Yuri finally got the nerve to make the call, and it still took every ounce of willpower he had left not to end it with every long, discordant ring of the connecting dial tone.

_He loves me,_

_He cares,_

_It’s going to be okay,_  

He reassured himself quietly, hyper aware of the spike in his heart rate as he willed his hands to stop shaking. He’d waited so late into the night to call specifically so Victor and Yuuri wouldn’t try to involve themselves, but his anxiety had him almost wishing he hadn’t. At least if they were nearby, he wouldn’t have this crawling fear of potentially being left completely on his own…

[ _Yuratchka, is that you?_ ] 

_Deep breath. It’s going to be okay._  

“Yeah, grandpa...it’s me,” He pauses, listening to the quiet creak of the guest boxspring as his grandfather settled down on the bed. “I’m sorry for calling so late—and...for not telling you the truth, before.” 

[ _I know_ .] The older man replies, almost reflexively, as if he already knew the conversation by heart. [ _You don’t have to apologize for that, my boy. You’ve been very strong, haven’t you?_ ] He asks, and, had it been anyone else, Yuri might have found it patronizing, but he can hear the love in his grandfather’s words, the understanding, and it brings unbidden tears of fondness to his eyes.

“I wanted to be strong...I didn’t want you to have to worry,” He whispers, voice breathy and trembling—the last walls of his facade crashing around him. “But I just made everything _worse_.”

There’s silence on the other line for a long moment, and Yuri can feel every biting sting of his vulnerability. He knows that there is no judgement there, but the fear lingers like hanging smoke in the air, threatening to deprive him of what little breath he has left.

[ _I will not lie to you, trying to handle everything by yourself has made things more difficult,_ ] Nikolai admits, and Yuri’s heart plummets. _This is it_ , he thinks, terrified, _this is the moment where he realizes everyone else who left me was_ right _._

“I know—I know,” He agrees, breath stuttering with the full-body force of his barely-restrained sobbing. It hurts so much—everything in his body bracing for impact, the blood rushing in his ears so loudly that he almost misses it when his grandfather continues speaking: 

[ _But no one is blaming you, Yuratchka._ ] 

...Huh? 

“B-but...you...I—”

A sigh, pixelated through the speakers—not angry or frustrated, but heavy in a way that makes Yuri’s heart clench. [ _We’re disappointed that you didn’t feel you could rely on us to help, but you are still so young. Sometimes, we forget that. We should have all been taking better care to help you and make sure you were doing alright, but we weren’t. In the end, you obviously thought what you were doing was for the best, and no one will fault you for that._ ] 

And it’s with that final assurance that Yuri feels the last of his carefully laid pretense shatter for good. Unable to reign himself in any longer, he sobs like a child into the crook of his arm, his hunched shoulder loosely keeping the phone to his ear as his grandfather continues to reassure him. Vaguely, there’s still a deeper part of him saying he should be embarrassed for not being able to maintain control, but it no longer feels like the majority. Above it, he can hear Victor and Yuuri’s comforting words, and they help ground him enough to at least slow the flow of his tears.

Surprisingly, after the call has ended and he’s left staring at the darkened ceiling above his hospital bed, he doesn’t even feel the after-sting of humiliation as he usually does. For the first time in a while, he feels peaceful. Safe in the fact that he knows, without a doubt, where he stands with the most important people in his life.

And safe in the tentative thought that reaches him, just before his eyes fall shut, that it _is_ going to get better.

* * *

 

Being discharged from the hospital is both a relief and concerning. One one hand, Yuri is _more_ than ready to get back to practice so he can regain a little bit of normalcy in his life. But, on the other hand...he’s not exactly sure what ‘normal’ will mean for him now. After spending so long trying to keep everyone out, accepting the fact that he’ll need to find a balance between independence and allowing others to help him is a bitter pill.  

Of course, they must have known that transition would not come without _some_ difficulty. That much was clear after he’d accidentally overheard the main hospital psychologist giving all of his guardians—temporary or otherwise—some clinical rundown of what to expect and how to help after a suicide attempt. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at the over dramatics of it as they escort him into Yakov’s car.

They’ve only barely left the hospital, and Yuri’s already losing his patience. To a certain extent, he expected them to be hypervigilant now that they’ve seen the true severity of his mental illness, and as much as he appreciates the effort, this is just _too much_. It isn’t a long drive back to Victor’s, but it seems like they can’t manage 2 goddamn minutes of peace and quiet without Yuri catching someone’s overly-attentive glance in the window’s reflection, as if he’s just going to throw himself out of the moving vehicle at a moment’s notice.

Resigned to his fate, Yuri decides it’d be easiest to feign sleep for the remainder of the drive, hoping it’ll at least give him reprieve from their desperate babysitting attempts for the time being. He only ‘wakes up’ when they’re at the apartment, and, even then, it’s only because what’s left of his ego would absolutely _crumble_ if Victor tried to carry him upstairs like an honest-to-god _toddler_.

They thank Yakov for the ride, making plans to be at the rink in two days’ time, after Yuri is settled back in to the apartment. After which, his grandfather catches him in a quick goodbye hug, only letting go once Yuri promises to visit with him the next day before the older man returns to Moscow.

As he turns to make his way up the front steps, Victor pulls him back, pressing the keyring into his hand.

“Go on upstairs; Yuuri and I will be up with your bag up in a minute. We just need to speak with Yakov and Nikolai for a moment.” He smiles in response to Yuri’s questioning look, sending the teen off with a gentle nudge against his shoulder, and Yuri doesn’t care enough to argue.

It’s a short walk upstairs to Victor’s apartment, and though the old door has a bit of a pull to it, the blond manages to unlock it on the third try. Although, that’s about where the extent of is certainty takes him.

Hesitating, Yuri lingers in the open doorway, not moving, save for a quiet breath. Even if he can rationalize that they’re just downstairs, being in the apartment without Victor and Yuuri feels wrong in a way he hadn’t anticipated. An airy feeling settles in the pit of his chest as he forces himself past the threshold, toeing the door shut behind himself before the other two can catch him and notice anything amiss. It’s a strange feeling—not quite like nostalgia but quite _un_ like it, either. It’s only been a week, but something restless inside of him seems to settle completely as he takes in the familiarity of his temporary-home. The marks on the floor from Makkachin’s nails. Yuuri’s well-worn, dog-eared copy of _Norwegian Wood_ lying on the coffee table beside Victor’s favorite armchair. The quiet hum of the radiator pressed against the corner. Even the subtle, comforting smell of lavender and cotton that hangs in the air. Every individual little sign of life strikes him in a way it never had before. It’s strange, like a word on the tip of his tongue that only just manages to elude him.  

As much as he tries to shake it, the feeling persists for the rest of the evening, long after they’ve eaten dinner and he’s settled into bed. He’s restless through the night, unable to sleep with that nameless, shapeless feeling hanging in his mind. Even his usual insomnia cure of mindlessly scrolling through his notifications is anything but helpful in soothing him. Having kept his distance from social media during his brief stay in the hospital had left him inundated with unanswered messages, and he just doesn’t have the energy to even _try_ responding.

Shutting his phone off with an audible huff, Yuri tries to go through the relaxation techniques that Yuuri had been teaching him, but one specific memory keeps coming back to mind. 

When he’d woken up after his emotional outpouring in the hospital, he’d initially been confused (and a little bit embarrassed) to find that Victor was still there, having fallen asleep in one of the uncomfortable chairs. However, what was even more shocking was the fact that Yuuri was nowhere to be seen. Fighting down the initial panic reaction, he was considering waking Victor when he heard the door open, followed by a soft noise of surprise as the Japanese man hurried to the bedside, a cardboard tray and three cups balanced in his hands.

_“Sorry for stepping out so suddenly. My mother always said that nothing quite settles the mind and stomach like hot tea,”_ The brunet had smiled kindly, settling down in the empty chair closest to the bed. _“Even if it’s something small, I think you can find happiness anywhere. It doesn’t have to be everything at once.”_

_Fuck it_ , he thinks, rolling himself out of the bed, _if my methods aren’t working, I’ll try someone else’s._

He slips out of his room cautiously, only opening the door a sliver of the way as to not alert the two sleeping in the next room. _God_ knows what kind they’d do if they thought he was sneaking out in the middle of the night. Tiptoeing across the main room towards the kitchenette, a quiet voice from the direction of the living room nearly startles him to death.

“Yuri?” He turns, only to see Katsuki slowly sit up from the couch, fumbling for his glasses on the side table. “Where are you going?” He asks, voice suddenly far more awake as he glances anxiously between the teen and the front door.

_Predictable_. Yuri rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the quiet notes of concern underlying the question. “Don’t jump to any ridiculous conclusions, I’m just getting a glass of water.” He pauses, meeting Yuuri’s softening gaze with a conspiratorial smile. “But, if you’re up too, we might as well have tea.”

Yuuri smiles gently then, stretching briefly to rid himself of the his impromptu nap as he rises to his feet. “Good idea, I’d love a cup right now.”

They both stand in an amicable silence as Yuuri sets to work preparing the leaves. Yuri leans bonelessly against the counter, watching him work. It’s strange to think how far he’d come from his initial impression of the other. He’d heard of Yuuri Katsuki long before he’d personally witnessed the other’s pitiful defeat in Sochi. But, after seeing the mess the older skater had made of his routine (not to mention everything that happened at the banquet) it goes without saying that his impression had been a decisively bad one. This opinion only worsened when he found out that Victor, the rinkmate and alleged _friend_ who had promised to choreograph his senior debut had impulsively skipped the country for the same loser who’d tried to seduce him at that infamous banquet. Begrudgingly, he _might_ have warmed up to the other after their brief time living in training together in Hasetsu, but, in the end, it was all the stage for a competition. And he’d...well, he’d _lost_. And, as much as he expected to resent Yuuri afterwards...he didn’t. Not really.  

Admittedly, he could see now that he was glad for that. Had he been childish about his defeat, maybe he wouldn’t have ever gotten to know Yuuri, and gotten to experience _this_. It was almost impossible to believe how much had changed in the span of the last month, after feeling at a standstill for what felt like years. He’d felt so isolated for so long without even realizing it—thinking that independence was the only way to true strength.

But Victor and Yuuri had taught him different. They’d been there with him, been a _family_ to him, even despite it all. They’d opened him up to a world where he didn’t have to carry the weight of it as his own, and even though the fight wasn’t entirely over, now, as Yuuri placed his special cat-shaped mug into his hands, he couldn’t help but feel confident that he would make it out alive in the end.

He follows Yuuri back to the living room silently, where the other reclaims his seat on the couch. When the blond hesitates, Yuuri hums, patting the seat next to him in invitation, and Yuri quickly settles in. In his peripheral, he can see the older man watching him carefully over his glasses, and, when he does speak, neither his timing nor question come a any surprise: 

“Is there something on your mind?”

Despite anticipating something along those lines, it does little to change the fact that Yuri doesn’t know how to express the strange feeling that’s made itself a home in the pit of his chest. He doesn’t feel restless or uncertain, just...different.  

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly after a long moment, pushing his messy bangs away from his eyes. “I feel weird.” 

Yuuri nods sympathetically, placing his mug down to lean in closer. “Bad, weird? Or, are you having trouble settling in after being somewhere different?”

“I like it here.” He admits quietly, so quick that he surprises himself, too. But he’s even more surprised when he finds himself continuing. “I don’t know why, either, because I really hated it at first, and last time I was here was when I fought with Victor. But...after being in the hospital…” He pauses, running his tongue along the grooves of his teeth as he looks around the familiar room. “I don’t know. It feels right in a way that it doesn’t other places. I didn’t realize it until I was away for a while.”

They sit in silence for a moment, Yuri still mulling over his realizations, and Yuuri observing him carefully, fingers circling the edge of his own mug, choosing his next words carefully:

“Yuri, how does it feel coming back to Yakov’s after a competition?”

Yuri’s mouth pulls into a tentative frown, confusion setting in even further at the other’s seemingly unrelated question. “Fine, I guess?” 

“But not like this?” Yuuri prompts, maintaining eye contact in a way that makes the teen wonder whether or not he missed something along the way. He thinks carefully for a minute, regaining his bearings, before answering.

“No. I know i’ve felt this before, but it’s not...the same. It’s not bad, but it’s... _I don’t know_ .” He struggles for a cohesive response, but comes back with nothing. He can’t make comparisons because there _is_ nothing to compare.

When he glances up, Yuuri is wearing a soft, fond smile. The older man leans back but moves his hand toward Yuri’s, locking their pinkies together like a promise. “That’s because you have many houses, but you haven’t had a home in a long, long time.” 

Yuri furrows his brow, uncomprehending, even in the face of Yuuri’s longsuffering patience. “I don’t understand.” He admits, though, that isn’t entirely true. It isn’t that he doesn’t understand what Yuuri is trying to convey, but more that he’s having a hard time believing it. _This_? His home? Even if he likes it here, he’s resigned himself to only ever being a guest—just as he is most everywhere.

There’s no time to plant roots or plan forevers when you’re a temporary facet, after all.

“There’s nothing _to_ understand, Yuri,” Yuuri explains, “Putting your feelings under a microscope won’t make them any less real. If you feel safe and like you belong here, then that makes this your home.”

Yuri opens his mouth to argue, but he swallows it back at the sound of a door opening behind him. 

“He’s right, Yura.” Victor agrees, and even without turning to look, the teen can hear the dopey-smile in his voice. “If you feel at home here, then that just means we’ve done our job! 

Victor flops himself down into the armchair beside the sofa. His meticulously-styled hair is ruffled from sleep, but his eyes still shine, despite having obviously been woken up by their conversation. He and Yuuri share a knowing look that nearly has Yuri bristling, but Yuuri smothers that line of questioning before it’s even begun.

“Yuri, do you remember earlier, when Victor and I stayed to talk to Yakov and your grandfather?” The blond nods, and Yuuri continues, “We were going to wait to tell you, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

Although Yuri tries desperately to keep his face neutral as he glances between the two, he can practically hear the anxiety creeping into his voice when he speaks. “What’s going on—what are you talking about?”

“Yuri,” Victor says seriously, pulling open the odds-and-ends drawer of the coffee table and pulling something small from within. “I’m going to give you this, and I know that you’re going to try to refuse and give it back, but I want you to keep it. Just in case.”

Both Victor and Yuuri are looking at him intently now, waiting for his response. Though still very confused, Yuri swallows past the lump forming in his throat and nods mechanically, holding out his hand. “Okay.” 

Victor leans forward and places something cool into Yuri’s upturned palm, not taking his eyes off the teen as he slowly glances down at what had been given to him. 

_What?_ He thinks, squinting down at the object as if that would make it any less real.

“It’s a key to the apartment.” Yuuri smiles, relinquishing his grip on the blond’s hand as he tentatively turns the key over with his fingers. “We were talking, and we decided that you needed somewhere safe to go when you’re overwhelmed. Somewhere you don’t feel pressured to act like things are okay.”

“Somewhere like _home_ .” Victor adds joyfully, looking like a proud father on christmas. “You’re family to us, Yuri, and if you can make a home for yourself here, then the guest room is yours for as long as you want it.” He assures, smile faltering slightly as he continues. “We’ll have to go back to Hasetsu soon, but this key is a promise that we’ll always be there when you need us, and we’ll only be a call away at any time _for_ any reason—even if you don’t think it’s important.”

Yuri shakes his head slowly, moving as if to give the key back to its original owner. “That...it’s too much, Victor. This is your house, and it would be weird for me to just stick around here when you’re—what—six _thousand_ kilometers away in Japan?” He reasons—or, at least, tries to—as Victor gently nudges the offering hand away.  

“Then think of it as doing me a favor! You can check up on the locks, make sure everything stays in order while I’m gone, that kind of thing.” The silver-haired man waves dismissively, which only serves to set Yuri off even more.

“Yuri,” Yuuri interrupts quietly, pulling the teen’s hand into his own to close the other’s fingers back around the key. “It’s _okay_ to take what people offer you. We want you to be able to stay here if it can help you. You don’t have to come here at all if you aren’t comfortable with it, but we want you to at least have the option.”

Instinctually, Yuri wants to argue more. But, looking into their imploring faces, he feels like all the fight’s been knocked out of him. “Whatever,” He sighs, “If it’s that important to you idiots, then I guess I could hold on to it.”

Victor gives him of his brilliant grins—the real one, he notes with no small amount of security, not the one he’s spent the better part of two decades fine-tuning for interviews. And, suddenly, he’s tangled in the two older men’s warm embraces.

That cold part of him deep inside still screams that it’s all temporary, and that he’s only opening himself up to getting hurt again, but he feels Victor’s arms tighten around his waist, and Yuuri’s glasses press into his hairline.

The voice still doesn’t stop, but he feels it get a little smaller.

“Thank you.” He whispers, quiet enough that it leaves the chance that they might not hear it.

But the arms tighten around him, and he knows.

* * *

 

The seasons change, and Victor and Yuuri go with it. 

“Do you need anything? Are you alright heading back by yourself?” Yuuri asks for the tenth-fucking-time as they stand outside the terminal at Pulkovo, waves of strangers rushing past them irritatedly like schools of fish.

Yuri huffs, looking pointedly at Victor as the older man excitedly goes through all kiosks looking for souvenirs for the Katsuki’s. “Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?”

“ _Yuri_.” The brunet insists, eyes trained on the younger skater.

“Yes, _mother_ ,” He replies in the most saccharine voice he can stomach, unable to keep himself from smiling in earnest when he hears Yuuri chuckle behind his face-mask. “Come on, I tracked Victor down all the way to your house not that long ago; I think I can manage a cab ride back home.”

He doesn’t miss the way Yuuri’s eyes glisten at the way he refers to the apartment, and smothers his embarrassment by coughing into his sleeve. “But, seriously. You should get ahold of that idiot before he gets distracted and ends up missing your flight.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Yuuri sighs fondly, waving Victor over from where the other had been struggling with an armful of knick-knacks.

“Yuuri, look! They have these tiny snow globes with St.Basil’s cathedral, and this one’s a matryoshka!” The older man smiles broadly, holding up each of his purchases individually, like an excited child. 

Yuuri stifles another laugh behind his mask, opening one of their carry-ons to allow his partner to place the souvenirs inside. “Thanks, Victor; my family will love them.”

“Saps.” Yuri grunts as Victor leans down to press a soft kiss to Yuuri’s temple. Even though he’s long-since made peace with their open displays of affection, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he lets them get away with it without _some_ kind of public shaming.

Used to the treatment, Victor merely grins wider, holding his arms out in invitation. “Don’t be jealous, Yuratchka, there’s plenty kisses to go around!”

Yuri gags, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Disgusting! Go check in to your flight already, I’m sick of looking at your dumb _forehead_.”

Victor throws a hand over his chest in mock-offense, leaning heavily against Yuuri’s shoulder. “ _Oh_ , my wounded heart! Where did we go wrong in raising our precious son for him to become such a little delinquent?!”

“Well,” Yuuri hums dramatically, as if deep in thought. “For starters, you _did_ leave him all alone to show up naked in my family’s onsen because I’d gotten drunk and flirted with you last year.”  

Yuri snorts as Victor stumbles back, as if having been struck. “Now my own _husband_ is bullying me! Will my torment _never_ cease?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” The blond deadpans, fighting the urge to embarrass himself further by smiling. “Now get out of here; you’re holding up foot traffic and the last thing we need is paparazzi recognizing us because _someone_ decided not to wear a fucking disguise.” He looks pointedly at Victor, whose dark sunglasses were now serving little purpose but as a way to hold his bangs back.

“I’d rather be caught dead than commit a fashion crime as serious as wearing sunglasses inside of a building.” The older man replies, so seriously that Yuri almost can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. “But, I suppose it is getting to be about that time, isn’t it?” He concedes sadly, glancing to Yuri with a flicker of uncertainty. 

The teen scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Not you, too. I already got the parental act from Katsudon while you were running around like an over-excited toddler.” He groans, though it does nothing to lessen the unwarranted—albeit, comforting—concern in his temporary guardians’ faces. “Really. Things have changed, okay? Maybe I’m not completely better, but I’m going to be fine.”

They stand in silence for a moment. Victor relaxes a touch but still looks skeptical of his assertion. On the other hand, Yuuri gives him a long, anxious look, before suddenly surging forward, nearly knocking the blond off his feet as he enveloped in an embrace.

“You promise you’ll call? It doesn’t have to be every single day, but just...anytime you want, okay?”

Hesitating for a moment, Yuri wraps his arms loosely around the other’s shoulders, face pressed into the crook of his neck. “Of course. You’re not getting rid of me _that_ easily.”

Yuuri laughs, pure and honest, and tightens his hold. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He breathes, voice suspiciously thick, clearly trying to hold back tears. “I’m really going to miss you. We _both_ are.”

From over Yuuri’s shoulder, Yuri catches Victor’s eye, the older man smiling tenderly in a way that has him immediately averting his gaze. 

“I’m going to miss you, too.” He mumbles, giving Yuuri one last squeeze as he gives into the crack in his composure. “Come back soon, okay? I’m going to kick your ass when we get to Moscow.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Yuuri chuckles, finally pulling back to hold the blond at arm’s length. “Stay healthy, Yuri. We love you. We’ll always be there if you need us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He huffs, brushing Yuuri’s hands away and ducking his head so his hair will hide the way his own eyes have started burning. “Have a safe trip.”

Yuuri smiles softly, picking his carry-on up from where he’d left it on the floor. “Of course. Same to you.”

Stepping forward, Victor ruffles Yuri’s hair affectionately, simply laughing at the teen’s half-hearted protests. “ _Da svidahnia_ , Yura.” He says quietly, before slipping back into his usual teasing self. “Try not to burn the apartment down while we’re gone!”

“Fuck off, old man!” Yuri yells in response, listening for Victor’s laugh as the two are swept away into the crowd. 

He stands on tiptoes to watch them until they disappear behind the doors to the security check-in, counts to 10 in his head, and turns back in the direction they’d come, feeling incomplete.

* * *

 

For the most part, he splits his time evenly between staying at Victor’s and staying with Yakov, as having him around seemed to ease his coach’s uncertainty a bit. Staying alone in the apartment was difficult at first, but it’s made much easier by his near-constant texting and Skype calls with Victor and Yuuri. Despite the six-hour time difference, the older couple make a point to catch him at least every other day, either before or after practice. It’s mostly just checking in to make sure he’s eating well, going to appointments with his new therapist, and, honestly, just sharing their days with him. If it was any other time (and, Yuri supposed, anybody else), he might have thought it was annoying, but he begins to catch himself growing anxious around the times they’d usually call, waiting, hoping that he’ll hear from them. 

In the meantime, he works as hard as he can, perfecting every last detail of his program for the coming competitions. Before he even realizes, the long summer nights have bled into a crisp autumn, and he’s settling into a hotel room in Canada, Victor and Yuuri showering him with well-wishes from his shitty laptop speakers.

[ _You’ve worked so hard, I just know that you’ll do great!_ ] Yuuri beams, voice and face a half-second out of sync due to the low quality hotel wifi. [ _I’m sorry that we won’t be there to see your debut in person_.]

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see me perform when I absolutely crush you at the Rostelecom Cup.” Yuri taunts, leaning back against the headboard as he focuses on relaxing the tension in his muscles.

Victor hums, leaning into frame with Makkachin in his arms. [ _I wouldn’t get so cocky just yet. Yuuri’s been working harder than ever!_ ] He insists, giving his partner an admiring glance. [ _He’s really learned to capture Eros, if I do say so myself._ ]

“Gross!” Yuri hisses, covering his ears like a child. “Cut that shit out, this is the last thing I need after a long flight.” He pauses, glancing toward the bedside clock with a furrowed brow. “Wait, isn’t it, like, two a.m over there? You idiots are going to be dead on your feet at practice later.”

[ _Actually, Yuuri and I are taking a few days off_ .] Victor replies airily, scratching Makkachin behind the ears. [ _There are a few things we’d been planning to do that can’t be put off._ ]

“A few days?!” Yuri gapes, trying to mentally count the days left until Yuuri’s qualifiers. “Can you even afford to risk it this close to your competition?”

Yuuri smiles pleasantly, looking to Victor in a nonverbal exchange. [ _I’ll be fine; although I am a little happy that you’re worried about me_.]

Yuri immediately backtracks, face flushing. “I am _not_ worried!” He argues, though it only serves to intensify the others’ shitty, adoring grins. “I just want our next competition to be an equal footing. Beating you won’t mean anything if you aren’t in top condition.” He growls, despite the futility of his assertion. Victor and Yuuri can read him like a book, and their unwaveringly fond looks are a testament to how little his bravado gets through.

[ _Of course, of course._ ] Yuuri chuckles. [ _Thanks, Yuri. Even though it’s hard because of the time change, make sure to keep up with your meals, okay? We look forward to watching your debut tomorrow!_ ]

“You better! I’m going to wipe the floor with these old losers.” He grins, stifling a yawn against his shoulder as he feels the flight exhaustion hitting him full-force.

Victor hums sympathetically. [ _Jet lag, huh? We’ll let you go. Rest well, Yuratchka._ ]

“Bye.” The teen grunts, loosely throwing the hotel duvet over his face when the call ends, eager to sleep off the heaviness traveling has left him with.

…

Clicking his laptop closed, Yuuri turns to Victor sheepishly. “Thanks again for going along with this. I promise I’ll work twice as hard to make up for it after.”

“It’s not like I can blame you for wanting to go,” Victor smiles, a knowing look in his eyes as he moves to collect their luggage from the floor. “It’s his senior debut, after all! It’d be a tragedy to not be there rooting him on.”

…

Following Yuuri’s instructions, Yuri does manage to choke down a bit to eat before his competition, although the little he does have sits heavy and wrong in the pit of his stomach from his building anxiety as they wait beside the rink. He knows that he has the skill to do well. He’s practiced more than was strictly necessary to ensure his success, but, still, knowing that his competitors still had far more professional experience was always going to be intimidating. What’s worse, he’d drawn to perform fourth—right after Canada’s _obnoxious_ pride, king of assholes himself, Jean-Jacques Leroy.

But, asshole or not, that self-assuredness wasn’t entirely groundless. J.J. was fucking _good_ , and the thought of making his senior debut directly after someone at that skill level was more than a little intimidating.

“It’s _J.J. Style_!”

_But still; what an asshole_. Yuri thought, rolling his eyes as the fading music was quickly replaced by the enthusiastic roar of the crowd. At last, the Canadian man dropped his signature pose, skating leisurely over to the side of the rink where Yuri was awaiting his turn.

“Good luck out there, _princesse_.” He winks, smirk growing at Yuri’s indignation as he breezes past the interviewers toward the Kiss-and-Cry.

“That _fucking—_!”

“Pay attention, Yuri!” Yakov bellows, smacking his student upside the head. “Don’t let him get to you. I won’t have you screwing up your debut because you let a single taunt from your competitor ruin your focus!”  

Yuri scowls but reigns himself in, taking in a deep breath as he glances up at the score being announced, heart freezing in his chest.

One hundred and ten points. He knew that J.J.’s score would be high, but that was almost a full _twenty_ points above the current leader.

_And_ I _have to perform after_ him? Yuri thinks frantically, eyes glued to the scoreboard. _Can I even do this? With the technical difficulty alone I should do alright, but…_

Sensing the teen’s unease, Yakov heaves a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t get caught up in everyone else’s scores. As long as you keep your head clear and focus on your inspiration, the rest should come naturally.”

Yuri glances at him warily, awaiting further instructions before he’s interrupted by the announcer.

“And the next skater, who will be representing Russia for his first time on the Senior stage—Yuri Plisetsky!”

“No time for hesitation, child,” Lilia warns, leaning against the partition to be heard above the echoing applause. “Remember what we’ve taught you, and don’t let yourself get overwhelmed.”

He nods once, pushing off of the barrier and making his way towards the center of the ice.

_Agape...Just focus on Agape._

_…_

“Victor, hurry! Yurio’s taking the ice next!” Yuuri calls, stumbling into the arena just as the announcer’s voice rings out overhead.

“I can’t _believe_ our connecting flight got delayed.” The older man complains, dragging his feet as he hurries behind. “Any longer and we might not have made it!”

Yuuri nods shakily, making his way closer to the front where Yakov and Lilia were standing. “Thank god we were just in time.”

“Victor?!” The older man shouts, “You're a coach now, what the hell do you think you're doing here just two weeks before your students competition?”

“We couldn't just miss Yura’s debut!” Victor whines, inciting a deeper scowl from his ex-coach. “Besides, Yuuri _really_ wanted to come, and a break can be a good motivator!”

Yuuri smiles apologetically “We really wanted to be here to cheer him on in person. I hope we won't be too much of a distraction.”

Yakov grunts, looking as if he wants to argue more before Victor practically pushes him out of the way, pointing excitedly towards the ice.

“Oh, oh, look at him!!” Victor gushes emphatically as the blond takes his opening pose, head turned to the ground. “He looks like an angel! Oh, I’ve missed him so much.”

Locking eyes on the lithe figure, Yuuri nods dazedly to Victor’s comments, unable to look away. As the first notes of the song filter through the arena, the two watch, captivated at the teen’s grace and finesse as he all but floats across the surface of the ice. There’s a hush settling over the crowd throughout Yuri’s performance—all spectators seemingly spellbound by the boy gliding effortlessly through the music, a feather caught by the breeze.

He falls once due to an over-rotation towards the end, though it was nearly impossible to tell from the way the crowd erupts into applause as he takes his final pose, narrow chest heaving from the exertion.

“That was unbelievable…” Yuuri breathes, eyes shining with tears as Yuri finally drops the pose. “He’s so talented—I couldn’t look away.”

Victor hums in agreement, fingers against his lips. “That was practically perfect. It would take a really rough free skate for him to risk his place on the podium.”

The blond’s two coaches are the only ones in the room who look mostly unaffected. Although, having grown up knowing the two, Victor can see the proud sparkle in Yakov’s eye, as well as the way Lilia practically preens in response to her pupil's success.

As Yuri turns towards the barrier, Victor can see the recognition flash across his eyes for a moment before the teen’s face breaks out in huge smile, one that he’s sure the other would be doing everything to stifle, had he not been so distracted. Victor smiles in response, opening his arms in invitation while Yuuri practically shakes with excitement at his side, eyes glued to Yuri’s approaching form.

“What are you doing here?” Yuri asks gruffly, though the tone does little to hide his elation that they’d come to see him.

Ignoring the question entirely, Victor simply wraps the boy in his arms, nuzzling into his soft hair. Yuuri joins in almost immediately, even as Yurio struggles to free himself, complaining loudly about the photographers.

“Alright, break it up,” Yakov grumbles after a moment, freeing his student from the enthusiastic tangle of arms around him. “There will be plenty of time for all of this later, so don’t embarrass him _too much_.”

Reluctantly, the two step back, still beaming down at the boy like proud parents. “Sorry about that. You were absolutely _breathtaking_ , Yuri!” Yuuri raves, readjusting his glasses.

Yuri flushes, but looks pleased nonetheless, still giddy from the high of performing. “Of course I was.” He boasts, running his fingers through the section of his hair Victor had mussed. “Now get out of my way so I can go see my score.”

The two oblige—but not without another quick embrace, sending the boy off to the Kiss-and-Cry with their whispered encouragements. Lilia follows close behind, but, much to Victor’s surprise, Yakov does not. When he turns questioningly to the older man, he, too, stops dead, catching sight of what the other was staring intently at.

“Are all of those reporters waiting for _Yuri_?” Victor gasps. There were usually a handful of overzealous journalists looking to catch the skaters after performances, but he could easily count ten, maybe fifteen blocking the exit, only barely being restrained by security.

“Those vultures—to think they’d go this far!” The older man growls, more to himself than anything.

Yuuri, having overheard the exclamation, steps forward nervously. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Yakov sighs wearily, running a hand across his face. “I suppose it was going to come back to bite us sooner or later. I might as well tell you now.”

…

The anxious static of anticipation clouding Yuri’s mind practically drowns out everything but Lilia’s hand gripping his own and grounding him as they announce his score. 97.06—definitely not his personal best or anywhere _near_ J.J.’s score, but still more than enough to put him in second place, which is enough to clear his head a little bit.

However, it’s only then that he realizes that Yakov hadn’t joined them, which was strange enough on its own, if his quick glance around hadn’t revealed Victor and Yuuri waving him over anxiously just outside the camera’s view. Yuri raises an eyebrow questioningly, approaching the two who quickly sweep him off into the corridor, their faces pained and uncomfortable.

“What’s up with you two?” He prompts, hoping the feigned irritation will mask the uneasiness their behavior has left him with. “Did Yakov lay you out for coming here, or something?”

“Yuri.” Victor says gravely, placing his hands on the teen’s shoulders. “I need you to listen carefully. Yakov decided not to tell you, because it would have only made matters worse at the time, but some of the reporters who are here now know that you were hospitalized this year.”

Finally processing Victor’s words, Yuri sobers up immediately, the high of competing immediately being replaced by cold, disbelieving dread. “They... _How_?” He asks slowly, looking between the two. “Shouldn’t that have been confidential, or something?”

“One of the nurses leaked the information.” Yuuri explains softly, dark eyes heavy with anger on the blond’s behalf. “You’d already been discharged, so they didn’t have much solid proof for their articles to gain traction. But since the rumor of what happened has been circulating in the less reputable reporting circles, Yakov thinks that these reporters are here looking for confirmation or denial.”

A hysteric laugh bubbles up in Yuri’s chest, thin fingers pulling at his fringe angrily. “What do I do? What can I even fucking _say_ ?” He demands to no one in particular, cursing his terrible luck. He should have known this would happen. He’d gone too long without getting fucked over by his bad decisions, and now he was trapped (both literally _and_ figuratively) with no way out but through having to reveal something he never wanted _anyone_ to know.

“That’s up to you. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” Victor soothes, face taut with protective concern. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think that they’re going to just drop this story without a solid answer. They’ll make one up no matter _what_ you say or how much you choose to reveal.”

“So you’re saying it’s pointless?!” Yuri snaps under his breath, eyes glazing over with bitter tears that he violently scrubs away.

Yuuri gently grabs his wrist, keeping him from accidentally injuring himself. “Unfortunately, it can be. They don’t have enough evidence to validate the rumors, but they _do_ have enough to prove that you were in the hospital, and that’s not something they’re going to let go of.” He replies honestly, lacing their fingers together.

Victor nods tensely. “Because it’s bound to come up again, Yakov is organizing a quick interview on your behalf, and, as far as I can see it, you have two options. Being open about what happened would definitely afford you the most control. If you tell the story on your terms then they won’t have anything to hold over you later.”

“That’s... _no_ .” The teen mutters, feeling his breathing pick up at the thought of it. Tell those _strangers_ what happened? People who wouldn’t even care if it weren’t for the fact that they could potentially make money from exploiting his story? “I can’t do that. I _can’t_.”

“Like I said, we won’t force to do anything you aren’t willing to, Yura.” Victor promises, doing everything to keep his voice steady as his heart breaks for the boy in front of him. _Just when he was finally moving past it_ , he thinks bitterly. “But the other option isn’t any better. If you choose not to dignify it with a comment, then you’re leaving yourself at the mercy of the reporters, and it’s very likely that they’ll take it as an admission, anyway.”

Yuri opens his mouth to speak, but can’t find the words. Everything he’d done up until this point had been to prove that he was a worthy competitor, and he’d have to kiss that all goodbye if this story blew up. He couldn’t give a fuck whether or not people liked him, but if they were going to, it should be for his accomplishments, and not for the fact that they felt _sorry_ for him.

Yuuri squeezes their joined hands, gently drawing the blond’s attention back to him. “Yuri, I know that you probably feel so betrayed and trapped right now, but I need you to try and calm down and think of this rationally with us, okay?” He comforts, surprised by how calm he feels in response to Yuri’s panic. “This isn’t the end of the world. It’s a horrible injustice and completely unfair, but, in the end, no one’s opinion of you should matter but your own. Your past does not define you, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worth worrying about. Just keep your head high and know that you aren’t alone; we’ll be with you every step of the way no matter what you choose.”

When Yuri finally lifts his misty eyes, there’s no hesitation in Yuuri’s face—not a hint of doubt to betray his words. It strikes him all at once how strange it is, seeing the other without a single indication of anxiety on his honest face. And, whether it’s because of that fact, or simply that he  wants so desperately to believe what’s been said to him, Yuri finds himself nodding, and he _means_ it.

His throat is dry and tight, but he finally finds his voice—pitiful and small as it is. “W-will you two come with me? Just...please?”

“Of course.” They answer, practically in unison, before they’re pulling Yuri into another hug.

Later on, when they’re walking him in silence towards the swarming reporters with their hands in his, he’ll blame not fighting them off on exhaustion.

But he has no excuse for the way his arms had tentatively wrapped around them in response, relishing in the safety he felt enfolded in their embrace.

* * *

 

The wedding itself is straight out of a fairytale. It’s an unseasonably warm April evening, and the cherry blossoms surrounding Yu-topia are in full bloom, their pearly pink petals coating the ground as they fall, as if the grass itself had been woven from spun-sugar.

It’s beautiful, and the kind of thing he knows he should be making an effort to cement into his memory, but his thoughts are all overtaken with the night before.

...

It was half-past midnight, nearly an hour after they’d all settled into their beds at the inn when there’d been a knock at his bedroom door.

“ _Yuri_ .” Victor had whispered, tapping again. “ _Are you awake? Yuuri and I have something we’d like to discuss.”_

A rustle of fabric, then slippers scraping against the floor. _“Victor, maybe this isn’t the time. He’s probably asleep already, and we should be, too, considering—”_

With a growl, Yuri tossed his pillow at the door, propping himself up on his elbows. “ _What the fuck do you want?!”_ He hissed, eyes struggling to adjust to the dark. Truth be told, he hadn’t been asleep yet, but he _definitely_ wasn’t in the mood for whatever weird shit Victor was going to try and rope him into.

“ _I told you he’d be angry!_ ” Yuuri shout-whispered, voice tight. “ _Go back to sleep, Yura, we’ll talk about this another time_.”

Yuri knew he should let it go at that, but the anxiety in the other’s voice had him rolling off of the futon, padding softly to open the door. “ _Just come in, already. It better be important_.”

The two older men had shuffled in guiltily, plopping themselves down around the low table as Yuri did the same. After a minute where they hadn’t immediately began explaining, Yuri had snapped.

“ _So what’s so urgent that it’s got you running around past midnight like a couple of idiots_?” He asked gruffly, irritated by the others’ silence.

“ _Well, it’s...If you didn’t mind, we thought—”_ Yuuri fumbled, gesturing vaguely with his hands in a way that did nothing to clarify his intention.

Victor, on the other hand, cleared his throat, expression suddenly all-business, or “the dad face” as Yuri had teasingly dubbed it. “ _I know that we’ve joked about us being your parents before, but, with Yuuri and I becoming a legal couple tomorrow, I just thought we should formally get your decision_.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes, uncomprehending. “ _My decision on_ what?”

“ _W_ \- _We’d like to adopt you_.” Yuuri had squeaked in response, refusing to make eye-contact as he fixed his gaze on the worn table.

They had lapsed into another awkward silence following Yuuri’s exclamation, Yuri trying and failing to make sense of what had just been said to him. All the words were there, and he understood the meaning, but there was no way. No way…

Yuuri, having taken his silence as reluctance, immediately started to backtrack. “ _It’s fine if you don’t want to! It’s just a legal thing; nothing’s going to change, but we just thought it might be nice. We’ll leave now, I’m so so sorry if we made you uncomfortable._ ”

The brunet moved to stand quickly, pulling Victor with him, and that was all it took to snap Yuri out of his stupor.  
  
The blond hurried to block the door, stopping the other two in their tracks. “ _Don’t go, please—I was...I…_ ” He trailed off, eyes glassy as he locked his eyes on the tatami. “ _Would...you really be willing to do that? You want me to be your family_ ? _Officially_?”

A beat of silence passed before Victor seemed to deflate. “ _Oh, Yura_ ,” The silver-haired man breathed quietly, reaching down to cradle one of the teen’s tense fists in his hand. “ _Of course we do._ _You’re already an integral part of our family._ ”

Glancing up for confirmation, Yuuri had nodded earnestly. “ _Nothing would change if you didn’t want it to, but it might be...nice. Being official_.”

“ _Although…_ ” Victor trailed off with a teasing smile on his face, squeezing Yuri’s hand. “ _I_ do _think that Katsuki-Nikiforov-Plisetsky_ _has a nice ring to it._ ”

“ _Oh my god, would they even be able to fit that on the scoreboard when I compete_?” Yuri laughed shakily, brushing away the tears in his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Yuuri beamed, his own eyes glistening in the low light of the room. “ _What do you say we find out together_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuri practically sobbed, clumsily throwing his arms around the two, who instantly returned the gesture. “ _I want it. All of it. I want—I want to be your family_.”

They held him close as he trembled. He’s not as small as he was two years ago, but the way he fits in their arms is the same—absolutely perfect.

...

Now, surrounded by the quiet buzz of chatter under the fairy lights strung through the tree branches, Yuri sips his champagne thoughtfully, feeling omnipresent and not really _there_ all at once. Victor and Yuuri were still greeting guests, bustling around hand-in-hand with their rings glinting in the setting sun—the picture of matrimonial bliss. He only realizes that he’s been smiling when his cheeks start to ache, and it takes more effort than he’d like to admit to relax his face into a more neutral expression.

Someone elbows his side lightly and he startles, practically dropping his glass. With a furrowed brow, he turns to find Otabek looking back at him blankly, though the unspoken amusement in his friend’s eyes is obvious.

“Shut up.” Yuri mumbles, taking another long sip of his champagne. He _knows_ how he must look, clad in soft pastels with his long hair plaited intricately around his head. They’d even woven flowers into the strands like a top-of-the-line porcelain doll that would out any lonely old woman’s collection to shame. “I know, I look like a _cake_.”

“That isn’t what I was going to say.” Otabek assures him, eyes lingering on Yuri’s face for a long moment. “I was just thinking you’d changed.”

_Cryptic as usual_ , Yuri thinks, mouth pulling into a deeper frown.

“Your eyes.” Otabek elucidates, brushing away an errant lock that had slipped out from Yuri’s braids.

Understanding flits through Yuri’s mind, though it does little to settle his unease. “My eyes?” He asks dubiously. “I thought you said they were what you liked about me in Barcelona.”

“You’re remembering wrong.” Otabek answers plainly. “I never said that was what I liked about you, but they were the reason I remembered you.”

Yuri huffs a breath through his nose, giving the other a pointed look. “Okay? You’ve lost me, Beka. Mind getting to point?”

Otabek looks away, considering his words for a moment before continuing. “When we first met, I thought it was odd that someone so young could look so haunted; like you had already seen what the world had to offer and resolved yourself to being unhappy. I remembered your eyes because I used to hope that someday you’d find something that would take away that hopelessness.” He pauses, turning back to face Yuri, pinning him in place with that heavy gaze. “But, looking at you now, it seems like my wish came true. Congratulations, Yura.”

Yuri freezes, mouth agape as he considers his friend’s words. Without even thinking, his eyes flit over Otabek’s shoulder, to where Victor and Yuuri are conversing quietly with the Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki. Yuuri catches his gaze a half-second before Victor, and the silver-haired man waves eagerly as Yuri averts his gaze, cheeks flushing.

He thinks briefly of feigning ignorance to Otabek’s claims, but knows it’s useless—the other had seen it all, and knows him well enough to catch a lie when he hears it.

So, instead, he says nothing, locking his eyes on the tablecloth as he hears the newlyweds settling into their seats to his left.

“Everyone, can I have your attention, please?” Victor calls, tapping his fork lightly against his glass as the guests begin making their way to their assigned seats.

Yuuri stands beside him, eyes twinkling with excitement in the golden light as he speaks. “Thank you so much for coming, everyone. I know many of you had a long way to go to meet us here, and we can’t begin to express how much it means that you all came despite that.”

Yuri applauds with the rest of the guests, happy for the distraction from Otabek’s penetrating words. He knows the veracity of Otabek’s claims better than anyone, but hearing it aloud and remembering how much the couple had helped him was still _deeply_ embarrassing. There was already an inside-joke amongst skaters that Victor and Yuuri were his parents, and, after the conversation he’d had with them the night before, he could only imagine what would happen when they officially announced his adoption.

“Before we begin eating, a few family members and members of the party will be making toasts,” Victor explains, raising his glass demonstratively, for the guests to imitate in turn. “So, without further ado, please welcome our dear friend and soon-to-be _son_ , Yuri Plisetsky!”

Yuri startles, eyes wide with shock as the guests begin to applaud, some gasping at the announcement, others looking on knowingly. He panics, looking to Victor and Yuuri for an explanation, but finds nothing but a helpless shrug and that infuriatingly encouraging smile. _I’m going to kill him_ , he thinks, slowly rising from his seat as the others fall silent around him in anticipation.

“Most of you know this story already.” Yuri begins, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “But when I was fifteen, I almost died. I probably would have, had things continued the way they were going. Physically and mentally, I was a _mess_. I was struggling with an eating disorder, self harm, anxiety and depression—but, worst of all, I was ignoring it, because I didn’t think it mattered, or that anyone cared.” He pauses, closing his eyes so he won’t have to see the others’ pitying looks. “I woke up in the hospital after having worked myself half to death, and that was when Victor and Yuuri showed up,

“At the time, I was so angry at everything—everyone—but, especially, myself. I yelled at them, scared them half to death, and refused to believe a word they said, even after they’d gone through all the trouble of flying to St.Petersberg to make sure I was okay.” He sighs, shaking his head lightly as he recalls the events of years before. How foolish he’d been. “But no matter what I did or how badly I treated them, they were there for me. I was struggling so hard to understand _Agape_ while staring right it in the face the entire time. The love I’d been searching so ardently for was being given to me on a silver platter at every turn, but it took nearly freezing to death under a bridge for me to open my eyes and realize that love isn’t a prize that you earn.” He explains quietly, turning to Victor and Yuuri with a slight smile. “No amount of hard work will give you something that was there from the start. It’s only through learning to trust that you can begin to let love in, and Victor and Yuuri have loved me more than I ever dared to think anyone could. I’ve never met better friends, role models, a better couple, or better _people_ , and that’s because _no one_ is capable of loving in the same way that they are.” Yuri breathes, addressing the guests. “I know better than anyone that nothing in life is guaranteed, but I can promise you this: there isn’t anything on this earth or otherwise that could put an end to a love as strong as theirs.”

And, with that, Yuri brings his glass to his lips, the others following suit. As he settles back into his seat, he glances over to find Victor and Yuuri staring back at him, Yuuri in tears and Victor looking close, too.

_I love you_. He mouths, and it comes as no surprise anymore how much he means it.

* * *

 

The adoption papers come a month later. And by December, as he takes his place on the podium with gold around his neck and tears in his eyes, the name “Yuri Katsuki-Nikiforov-Plisetsky” is displayed proudly across every screen in the stadium—a private promise of _I will not break_.

Now, when he undresses for the bath at his grandparents’ inn, the scars on his thighs have already faded to white, like tiger stripes; and somewhere, the frost he once thought permanent has given way to spring.

  
  
-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was a satisfying ending! Thanks so much for sticking with it aaa???


	12. Ending Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an author's note, not the final chapter!!! Go back to "Older and Taller" if you have yet to read the ending :)

And that’s the last of it! If you’re one of the people who has been waiting on this, then I really hope that the resolution is something you like (or, at the very least, can make peace with.)

Now that it’s over, I just wanted to give all of my thanks to all of you who stuck with the story until the end. If it weren’t for your comments, I might never have been able to push myself through. Even when I was directionless, spending weeks at a time without being able to write more than a few sentences, I would read your comments and try to motivate myself to do as much as I could.

I’ve been writing _Permafrost_ on and off for the better part of half a year, and I’ve changed so much. I won’t get into the circumstances, but this story was very much born out of my own self-projection because a lot of it is based on my own experiences, and the fact that so many people were able to relate and enjoy this story absolutely floors me.

I can’t believe it’s over, and I can’t believe how blessed I’ve been.

But!! It’s not quite over, yet. When I was going through my phone looking for my first draft of the last chapter, I happened upon a number of chapter ideas I had that just didn’t make the cut or were alternatives to things that happened (bad endings, if you will). I’ll begin uploading these chapters within the next few weeks  as I refine them under a new work called “Frostbite”, so I hope you’ll keep your eyes out!

Lastly, I just wanted to say it again: thank you all so so much for all your support. I know it hasn’t been easy, but I appreciated every word, every kudo, and every message I received. It means more to me than you could ever know. Listen below is a playlist of all of the songs I used as chapter titles if you want to give it a listen. Thanks so much!

 _Spotify:_ [ _https://open.spotify.com/user/stardustcoeur/playlist/0jGN0CzO2DOlm6V1RzX9DR_](https://open.spotify.com/user/stardustcoeur/playlist/0jGN0CzO2DOlm6V1RzX9DR)

 

\- Individual Tracks Listed Below -

 

  * _[_Crash and burn -_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpCB6rqtcic) [_Angus and Julia Stone_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpCB6rqtcic)_


  * [_The Weight - Laura Stevenson_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT-wqhRvOnY)


  * [_Hull-Kroy_](https://youtu.be/5wh9nEEoHFE)


  * [_Brothers on a Hotel Bed-Death Cab For Cutie_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20u-GmfiqJE)


  * [_Desert Flags-Your hand In Mine_](https://youtu.be/BwbpX3Ep8Cs)


  * [_Ocean’s Brawl-Cœur de Pirate_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFDDJaUF0YE)


  * [_Flow-Transister_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4oqNNGn5sk)


  * [_Silently Leaving the Room-Carissa’s Wierd_](https://youtu.be/t-mgnJ7OPdU)


  * [_A Letter- La Dispute_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nURcsUg9So)


  * [_Don’t Leave Me Hanging- Great Lake Swimmers_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoLrlSAXF6A)


  * _[Older and Taller- Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zB3fwHX83k)_



  
_Title Track :_ [ _Permafrost- Laurena Segura_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcUfIUQtRUY)


End file.
